


Aiden

by Purdy18



Category: Burn Notice
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-24
Updated: 2016-10-16
Packaged: 2018-03-25 13:13:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 36
Words: 204,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3811822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Purdy18/pseuds/Purdy18
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was a reminder of her past, the whole team's only hope of getting out of Panama alive and maybe if they all survive the experience his name would live on through another life time.<br/>An AU follow on from S6 Ep10.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hell in a Hand Basket

Disclaimer: I don't own any part of Burn Notice, this is written just for fun.  
He was a reminder of her past, the whole team's only hope of getting out of Panama alive and maybe if they all survive the experience his name would live on through another life time.  
An AU follow on from S6 Ep10.  
AIDEN.

Prologue 

He had finally managed to get the mother of the present pain in his ass out of his office and into the hallway leading to the elevators. Smiling down at her, with his best "you can trust me" smile pasted on to his face, Tom Card edged Madeline Westen out of his domain.

This was proof Westen was beyond seeing sense. What sort of covert agent keeps his Mother informed on his missions and gives out classified phone numbers?

"For what it's worth, I hope this helped." He was rather pleased with the level of compassion he was managing to put into his tone.

"Nothing helps," she sighed, her bright blue eyes glistening with unshed tears. "But, -er, maybe you opened up my eyes a bit."

"I know some of that wasn't easy to hear, but that's one thing you'll always get from me, Mrs. Westen, is the truth." He paused, but when she didn't move he continued to try to reassure her, to get her to leave.

"I was never easy on Michael; I wasn't. But I did what I thought I needed to do because I cared about him. I do care about him. You see, I never had a whole lot of family. In fact, Michael is the closest thing I ever had to a son." Why didn't she just go? "I know this agency has cost you a lot. So for what it is worth, I am deeply, deeply sorry." Doesn't she realize I have more important things to do than hold the hand of a conniving, blackmailing old lady?

"Thank you. I'm glad Michael has you."

And finally she was gone. Sighing with a mixture of relief and frustration, he pulled out his phone from inside his jacket and stared at it: Had he allowed enough time to pass? To hell with it, he wanted to know now! Without a further thought, he dialed the mission's communication office.

"Please tell me it's done." He closed his eyes, waiting to hear the news that the man he had indeed thought of as a son was dead.

"We have only one confirmed kill, sir, Agent Brady Pressman. I repeat, only one confirmed kill." Card felt an icy chill wash over him; Michael would know of his betrayal.

He swayed gripping the handset tightly. "Find them, find them NOW! Use Gray's Merc group if you have to, but I want this over by tonight." Ending the call, he took three attempts to get the phone back into his pocket. Everything, everything he had done throughout his career was hanging by a thread.

()()

Jeff Reid, the agent in charge of Card's clean up squad, placed his radio back into the holder on his belt, all the while his eyes were skimming over the scattered remains of the minivan that had been decimated by a hit from a Maverick missile. It had taken ten minutes from his teams arrival at the scene to confirm there was not enough body parts for five adults. On the discovery of a single hand with the fingers still gripping part of the steering wheel, they quickly came to the conclusion there had only been one person in the vehicle. The task of cleaning up Tom Card's mess had suddenly become a whole lot more complicated.

By the time the Panamanian police came into sight, Reid and his squad had cleared out with all the incriminating evidence bagged up ready to be shipped back to DC.

Standing under the cover of a nearby stand of trees, Reid watched as what he considered to be rank amateurs trampled over the crime scene. If they had missed any of Pressman's remains, the local law with their undisciplined approach was making sure any last traces would never be discovered. Turning away in disgust, he got straight to business.

"You, you and you." He pointed to his three team leaders. "With me." He took a few steps away from where the bulk of the twenty man squad stood waiting for their orders.

"The targets left here on foot. They can't have got far and they will be looking for the quickest route out of the country." He pulled out a map of the city. "Team One, head out of town, spread out and check the ports. Glenanne has connections with gun runners all the way back to the eastern seaboard, so get on to the Coast Guard. Tell them just enough to get their cooperation. Team Two, the airports, both commercial and passenger, start at the ones closest and work your way out. Team Three, Westen's last communication reported Grey had got away, find him. I'm going to run liaison with the Panamanians and make sure they stay out of our way. This is a full clean up, people, and it has to be completed in the next -" He checked his watch. " Twelve hours, get to it."  
()()()()()()()()()

Chapter One: Hell in a hand basket.

They had all stood and watched helplessly as the unmarked F-18 fighter plane flew in low behind the minivan being driven by Brady Pressman, they'd listened to the whoosh of the Maverick missile launch over the roar of the jet engines and, with their mouths wide open in shock, they witnessed the total destruction of the minivan and the man who had so quickly become a trusted team mate.

Brady Pressman, the man who had been in charge of the team set to capture Anson Fullerton, the man who had sacrificed his own life so they could escape to take revenge on the man responsible for sending them all to their deaths.

"So what do we do now?" Sam was the first to pull himself together and realize they only had minutes until they were discovered.

Michael was frozen to the spot, unable to look away from the scattered wreckage strewn across the road. Tom Card had betrayed them.

"Mikey, we can't stay here." Sam moved to his best friend's side, catching hold of his arm.

Tom Card had betrayed them, had betrayed him.

"Damn it!" Sam looked about, frantically trying to decide what to do. Michael made these decisions, but right now Michael was shut down. Jesse and Fiona were standing guard over the hired killer, Tyler Grey. Both looked shook up, but were at least alert and were looking back at him for orders.

"Jesse, get that sonuvabitch up. We're getting out of here," Sam called out, accepting that at least for now he was in charge.

Letting out an angry growl of frustration, Michael sprang to life, suddenly spinning around and launching himself towards the man kneeling on the ground. Before anybody had a chance of stopping him, Michael delivered punch after punch until their prisoner fell back down into the dirt.

With his vision tinged with red and his head filled with nothing other than blind fury, Michael leaned down, intending to drag Grey back to his feet to continue the assault. Just before he could land the next blow, Michael found himself spinning away from his target.

"Enough! We are stuck in Panama and we don't have time for this," Sam barked, getting into Michael's face and using his bulk and force of personality to hold the younger man back. "How long do you think we have until the police and army turn up to investigate? How long before Card's own clean-up crew get here to destroy the evidence?"

Michael breathing heavily, gulping in mouthfuls of air as he brought himself under control, stepped back. Slowly the fury faded from his eyes and he dropped his head down. "You're right... We should go."

"I'm glad we all agree." Sam took a hesitant step back, still uncertain that Michael wasn't waiting for the opportunity to renew his attack on their prisoner. "Okay, Jesse, look after our friend. Fiona, take point – Mike, go with her."

For a minute it looked like Michael might argue, but it seemed he hadn't completely lost his ability to think. With a sharp nod, he took off with Fiona leading the way back into the city. As they ran through the narrow back streets, ducking out of sight whenever an army or police patrol came through, Fiona kept an eye on Michael, pleased to see he was concentrating on the job in hand.

As they waited for the others to catch up, they stood flattened against opposite walls of a narrow alleyway. Close up, she could see the tension he was wearing like a cloak.

"Do ya remember this, Michael, running from the patrols, hiding in alleys? If it wasn't so damn hot, this could be Ireland."

He didn't even offer her a smile, his icy expression cutting through her to the bone. She could see he was closing himself off completely, building up a wall around his emotions to protect himself from any more pain. It was the soldier and the spy in him taking over. She had seen the look before when he was preparing himself to do something terrible.

Eventually, they ended up taking refuge in an abandoned derelict house with crumbling walls and part of the roof missing. After pulling several rotten boards off a ground floor window, they climbed inside and settled down for a well earned rest. They all needed time to draw on their reserves and take stock of the situation.

Michael sank down with his back against one of the crumbling walls. With his knees drawn up and his hands over his head, he tried to come to terms with all that had happened. He had led them all into this; it was all his fault. He had blindly trusted the wrong man and now they were all going to die.

He tried to push back the pain, but nothing worked. This was all on him. His mother was right. He had gotten Nate killed and now he was about to do the same to Fiona, Sam and Jesse. The guilt was crushing him down.

He had trusted Card, trusted him completely. He hadn't questioned how quickly his old training officer had found the information he so desperately needed. He had just run with it, dragging everybody he cared about with him.

Looking back, he could see now that he had done exactly what Card wanted him to do; everybody involved in Anson Fullerton's capture and the death of Nate Westen gathered in one place. Everybody who would ask questions all gone in one go and if it hadn't been for Tyler Grey's sense of self preservation the plan would have worked.

How could he have been so stupid, so naïve? What was wrong with him? His father, Larry, Tom, hell, even his own mother had all let him down in the end.

"Mike? Michael, hey Mikey, you okay, brother?"

Hearing the concern in Sam's voice, he stiffened and pulled himself together. He would get them out of this, these last few people left in his life. He could do it. He just had to push everything down and think solely about the job, focus on getting them all back home and then, once he had them all safe, he would leave.

He would go off on his own and make Tom Card pay for his betrayal. He would not allow another friend to get hurt or killed because of his actions. After scrubbing at his face in an effort to disguise the signs of his emotional breakdown, Michael looked up.

"Yeah, I'm fine, Sam." He got to his feet. "We need to get out of this city and get back to the States. It will be hard for them to hit us with another missile if we're on home soil. Back in Miami, we'll have the advantage. They'll have to come at us on the ground and we'll be able to spot them coming."

"That's a great plan, Westen, if you can pull it off," the prisoner scoffed.

Michael turned towards Grey, cold emotionless blue eyes fixing on the captive. "We need a way out and you're going to help."

"You expect me to help you?" Grey laughed. "Maybe – if you cut me loose."

Michael moved so swiftly it took them all unawares. Grey's head was rocked back as blow after blow landed with sickening speed. It took both Jesse and Sam to pull Michael away from their prisoner. Sam threw Michael back against the far wall and held him there with a hand on his chest while Jesse checked on Grey.

As Sam stared at Michael, he knew it was only the pain from the busted ribs which stopped the younger man from flattening him. Michael Westen was gone; this man he had pinned against the wall was far more dangerous. His blue eyes, which usually held the only clue to his real emotions, were flat and cold, his mouth a thin, down-turned line.

Holding his friend in place, Sam waited to for the younger man to show some sign of returning sanity. It was as if he had stepped back in time. Only then, Michael had had a gun in his hand and Sam hadn't been positive he was going to walk away from the encounter.

"Michael, we are stuck in Central America without money, no weapons and no plan to get out. We need you," Fiona said, coming up alongside Sam, her hand gently rubbing up and down Michael's arm looking for a response.

"We need you thinking clearly. Come with me. We'll go out around the local bars. There are smugglers and thieves in every city. They'll know people who can aid us. We just have to find the right one to ask."

They waited in silence, the atmosphere thick with the anger radiating from Michael taunt body, only being kept in check by Fiona's presence and the force of Sam's hand.

Eventually, he nodded and Sam slowly stepped away. Taking a moment to regain his composure, Michael left without speaking a word, following Fiona back through the window and out on to the street.

As they walked side by side, neither looking or speaking to each other, Fiona wondered what had happened to the man who, only a few hours earlier, had promised he would do whatever it took to make her happy. Maybe once they were back home, he would return to her and the shell of a man who stalked along at her side would disappear for good.

"We should try out the bars near the airfields first." Fiona looked up at the sky as a light aircraft flew in low over the tops of the buildings.

"That's the first place they'll look for us, Fi," Michael dismissed her idea, as he scanned the people passing by.

"Well where do you want to look?" Fiona replied, frustration creeping into her tone. She knew he was hurting, but if they were to get out of this predicament, it needed every member of the team working at their best.

"Fine," he huffed. "We'll check out the airfields."

Fiona led the way into one bar after another. In each establishment, she scanned the customers. She had no idea who she was looking for exactly; the chances of there being a Miami or New York gun runner or arms dealer in Panama were slim. But she knew the type she was looking for. After all she had said it many times, they were her people.

It was as they were leaving the sixth bar they had visited, a seedy ramshackle place, that Michael decided he had had enough. There was another easier way to get help escaping the city.

"This is a waste of time, Fi. Grey has all the contacts we need. I just have to get him to give them up," he hissed into her ear.

"Grey will lead us into a trap, just like Card did," She calmly informed him while pushing through the crowd towards the exit. It was just then that a hand reached up and lightly touched her elbow. She would have ignored the touch, but for the words that followed.

"Maeve? Maeve O'Keefe? Is tha you, darlin?"

Fiona turned around in shock at hearing her Mother's maiden name being spoken so far away from home. She stared at the speaker, a vague feeling of recognition sparking in her mind. She just couldn't quite place him. He was an old man who looked to be well into his seventies, grey haired and disheveled, sitting at a table for four but he was all alone. There was something in his eyes...

"Mr. Malloy?" The name came to her in a rush of ancient memories. "Mr. Malloy, it's Fiona – Fiona Glenanne, Maeve's daughter." She smiled at him, if this really was Aiden Malloy, they may have found a way out or at the very least a safe place to stay.

The old man beamed up at her, a big toothless grin on his face. He pulled out the chair next to him and dragged her down. "Fiona? Is tha little Fiona Glenanne? My, yer tha spit o' ya mammy, girl." He turned to eye Michael suspiciously. "Yer a long ways fram home. Does yer Daddy know yer out?"

She sighed softly, accepting the seat, holding one of his gnarled hands in hers. "Me Daddy died, Mr Malloy – back in '79. D'ya remember?" She brought her Irish accent back to life.

His eyes brightened and then he frowned. "Oh. aye, an' ya big brudder, Pat Jr, a few yars later. I heard all about thot too. It war a bad business, girl, a very bad business. An' poor wee Claire. Am so sorry fer ya losses, luv. So, whot are ya doin' so far fram home?"

"Me an' me friends are kinda stuck har. We're looking for a ride to the US. D'ya know anybody who would be able ta help us out?" she asked.

He lifted his gaze back to Michael. "Are ya sure ya can trust this one, lass? He looks fit ta commit a murder, so he does."

"You can trust Michael, Mr Malloy. He's just a bit outta sorts t'day, aren't ya Michael?"

Before Michael could think of a suitable reply, the old man had struggled to his feet and, after a couple of limping steps, straightened up as the stiffness left his limbs. "Come wid me, me son has a little side business. He can see ya right."

Fiona got to her feet but before she could follow, Michael grabbed her wrist shaking his head. But she just smiled at him and said, "Come on, Michael. I've found us a ride back home. It's rude to keep our friend waiting."

"He's an old man," Michael hissed, tightening his grip.

"He's an old family friend. – He once attempted to bomb the Houses of Parliament." Grinning. she jerked her wrist free and strode off in the direction taken by the old man.

Cursing under his breath, Michael stalked after them.

Aiden Malloy tottered along the narrow dusty streets until they reached a wide open space surrounded by a chain link fence. Inside a long tarmac covered road was lined by several large steel hangars and a scattering of aircrafts of all different types and sizes.

Following the fence until they came to an unmanned gate, Aiden Malloy led them over to one of the hangars where a mid-size cargo plane stood out in the open with the ramp at the rear extended as if for loading.

"Kenny! Hey, Kenny boy, come out har an' meet an old friend. D'ya remember tha Glenanne's?" Aiden shouted as they reached the side of the plane.

Kenneth Malloy was a man in his mid-fifties, heavy set and dressed in grease covered overalls. He came out from the cargo plane, wiping his hands on a piece of cloth.

"Da, whot are ya doin' har at this time o' day? Am working now, tha lowering gear on tha ramp keeps jammin'... Glenanne, d'ya say? I haven't heard tha name in wha' near on twenty years."

He stopped in front of them, looking Fiona up and down. "Oh my, tha's no mistakin' it, ya look jus' like ya Mammy. I went ta school wid yar a couple o' yar brudders an' cousins, I'd know who ya were anywhere. Yar more O'Keefe than Glenanne." He turned to Michael, giving him the same attention. "You, I don't know."

"McBride. Michael McBride," Michael answered using his old Irish alias.

"I tink I heard o' ya... So whot tis it I can do fer ya?"

"A ride to the U.S somewhere near Miami would be nice," Fiona replied brightly, trying to make up for Michael's bad tempered scowling.

Kenny Malloy whistled through his teeth and ran his hands through his hair. "No passports or visas I tek it? An' I bet tha law is affer ya both, am I right?""

"She's Patty Glenanne's lass, Kenny. Pat who helped us get outta Ireland," Aiden growled at his son.

"Okay, Da, fer how many? Is it jus' tha pair o you? I got a shipment goin' ter Miami in a coupla days if I can get tha ramp fixed. Maybe if it's jus' tha pair – "

"Five of us," Michael spoke up. "And if you need help, we're all pretty handy with a wrench."

Kenneth gave a resigned sigh. "Five, Okay, I'll take you in with tha shipment. Yar'll have ter lay low til I'm ready te go."

"Can't you leave earlier? We'll pay." Michael had no idea where he would get the money from, but he would worry about that later.

"I can't. This load is legit, or most o it tis. Am scheduled ter fly out in two days. Ter go befer that, I'll rouse suspicions."

Michael sighed and turned away. In two days, Card would know for sure they weren't dead, that is if he didn't know already. They needed out now. There was probably a retrieval team scouring the city for them as they stood idly talking.

"Thank you, Kenneth, Mr Malloy. Thank you, we're very grateful. Fi'll give you a number when you want us to come back," he answered stiffly.

"No need fer that, son. Ya kin stay at my place," Aiden announced happily.

"No," Michael replied bluntly. There was no way on earth he wanted to spend time with anybody he might end up getting killed. You do not become friends with an asset. You do not take favors from assets. You use them and move on.

Unfortunately, Fiona saw the hurt look on the old man's face and smiled at Aiden, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "What Michael meant to say is there are another three in our group. We wouldn't like to intrude."

"Nonsense, girl! Did yer Da ever tell ya abou' tha time he stole a British tank?" He slipped his arm around her waist and was leading the way off the airfield before another word could be said. "Or how about tha way yer Mammy pursued him. I tell ya she war like tha huntsman affer tha fox an' him studying ta be a priest at tha time."

"No, he never told me tha story. We'd love ta hear it, wouldn't we, Michael?" Fiona shot him a look from over her shoulder.

Sighing, Michael followed behind, glowering at the couple in front of him who were chatting happily about old times in Ireland.

Malloy only walked as far as a small parking lot where he climbed into the driver's seat of an ancient Ford pick-up. "Climb on in, me place is jus' on tha otherside o' the airfield."

It turned out Malloy's house was a rundown villa on a private road, nearly a mile away from the airfield and the slums of San Miguelito.

The villa was a squat single storey structure surrounded by overgrown shrubs and parts of old aircrafts and cars. Coming to a stop, Aiden hit the pick up's horn, blaring out "Dixie" and then, as he stepped out, the front door opened and a young woman came running out with a big smile on her face.

"Grandaddy, what are ya doin' home so early?"

"This is Sorcha, Kenny's youngest." He gave the young woman a peck on her cheek. "She got her good looks off her mammy, god rest her soul."

While Fiona continued to smile and enjoy this break from all the stress, Michael bit down hard on his lips and tried to go with the flow. They were getting what they needed, just not as fast as he wanted.

Ten minutes later, as Aiden went into the details of another tale about people Michael didn't know or care about, he'd had all he could take. He didn't want to know the old man's life story, nor did he want Fiona to form an attachment to these people from her past. He had one thought spinning around and around in his head.

Get back to Miami, find Tom Card and Kill Him.

"Aiden, could I borrow yar truck an' go pick up tha rest o' me team?" Michael asked in the most pleasant tone he could manage, hoping the Irish brogue would encourage the man to continue being helpful.

"Sure, son," Aiden waved a hand towards the door. "Tha key is inside."

Fiona went to speak, but Aiden was already trying to drag her into another story.

By the time she turned back, Michael had gone.


	2. Hide & Go Seek

CHAPTER TWO, HIDE & GO SEEK.

"How long has Westen been gone for now?" Tyler Grey threw out the question casually. "It's gotta have been at least a couple of hours."

He paused to see what effect his words were having on the two men guarding him. Hiding his disappointment when he got no response, he continued to try to goad them. "Because I'm wondering how long you're gonna hang around here like a couple of chumps. Westen and his girlfriend must have been picked up. They're probably already in black bags heading back to Langley."

Sam Axe idly brushed a fly away from his face without taking his attention away from peering through a narrow gap in a boarded over window. As he studied the older man, Grey noted he was standing at an angle which allowed him to not only keep watch outside but also to keep an eye on the interior too.

"Or maybe Card just had their bodies dumped into the river," the assassin added with a smirk.

He remembered clearly all the information Tom Card had given him for this latest assignment. Axe was ex-military. At one time, the man had been a decorated SEAL. So the chances of getting a rise out of him were probably next to impossible. But it had been quite a few years since Commander Sam Axe had seen active service and Westen was supposed to be his best friend, so it had to be worth a try.

Tilting his head, Grey looked across to the other side of the room, turning his attention to the one-time counter intelligence agent, Jesse Porter. Axe might be capable of ignoring his taunts, but the experienced wet work specialist could tell by the tightening of the younger man's jaw that he was beginning to get to Porter.

Smiling, he turned the screw one more time.

"Or do you really believe Card is gonna think you're all dead? I tell ya, he has teams that can read a kill like you wouldn't b-"

"Hey! Just shut it. Can we gag him, please?" Jesse scowled at their captive.

Tyler Grey grinned, exposing his bloodstained teeth from his last run in with the missing Michael Westen. His plan was working. Sam Axe might not fall for his ploy, but the younger guy was definitely on edge.

"It would be in your best interest to let me go. I'm gonna to slow you down, get under foot. You know, I'll just be such a pain in the ass to drag around. What are-"

His words were cut off by Sam Axe and the piece of old dirty dust covered rag that the older man thrust into his mouth, effectively shutting him up.

"I warned ya, fella," the ex-SEAL growled as he made sure their captive wasn't going to be able to spit the cloth out.

Satisfied that Grey wasn't going to be speaking out of turn any more, Sam glanced over to where Jesse remained at his post. "Happy now?"

"Thank you," the younger man sighed without looking around. Then after another deep breath, he added. "Though as much as I hate to agree with Mr. Sunshine over there, he's gotta point. Mike and Fi have been gone for hours and we are sitting ducks here. If Card's black bag squad or his happy henchmen don't catch up with us first, we still have la policia, and -"

"We've nowhere else to go. Mike and Fi will be back," Sam replied firmly, cutting off his friend's speech. "We'll wait it out." He had faith in his friends and, even with Michael barely functioning, he trusted that the pair knew what they were doing.

Nevertheless, half an hour later, Sam had to admit to some concerns. Jesse was right; sooner or later either Tyler Grey's own team of mercenaries would come looking for their boss or Card's recovery team would work out that there had only been one man in the minivan when it was destroyed.

Then there were all the other groups who may be after them. The San Miguelito authorities had to be upset with having chunks of their city blown to pieces and there was always the chance that one of the gunrunners Fiona and Michael were trying to find could turn out to be an ally of Grayson Miller's, the arms dealer they had set up for Card to get busted. Wiping a hand over his forehead, he tried to block out the thoughts of all the bad guys who could be chasing them down.

No, Michael would get them through this and he would be back in the loving arms of his 'big momma' Elsa before she had a chance to miss him.

Leaning against what remained of the window frame, Sam risked a glance around the room they were hiding in. Tyler Grey, the man who had assassinated Anson Fullerton and in the process accidentally killed Nate Westen was still immobilized, sitting on the floor, gagged and bound and, thanks to Michael's temper, battered and bruised.

Nearby Jesse still wearing his home-made Panamanian peep-toe boots was keeping watch on the busy street outside.

Yes, it was all good. Mike and Fi would be back soon.

Just as Sam was about to turn back to his own job of keeping watch over the large weed tangled rear of the property, he paused as Jesse suddenly stiffened.

"Sam, I think we have a problem."

Standing side by side, they peered out through the wooden panels. The normally busy street was emptying. The few locals still in sight were rushing past with their heads down.

Sam felt a cold chill run up his spine as he wondered which one of the present threats to their lives was driving the local population off the streets.

"I'm going top side to get the birds' eye on what's happening." Jesse went to move, but Sam stilled him with a hand on his arm.

"No, there's no time. If we're ever gonna get back to Miami, we have to leave now."

He pulled out his hand gun and checked the clip before looking up. "I've got six rounds left, how about you?"

Jesse did a quick check, his expression grim. "I've got three, and -" he picked up the bag containing Tyler Grey's rifle and ammunition. "We have ten rounds left for our friend over there's Barrett sniper rifle."

"O-kay then, we'll just have to be sneaky and do our best to avoid a gun fight." Sam tried to put a positive spin on the situation. "Or – maybe if we can get some weapons off whoever is coming after us."

"Great." Jesse sighed, looking down at his once white socks peeking out of the end of his 'borrowed' boots. "Maybe I'll get lucky and find an hombre who wants to trade up from his boring old fitted boots for my fashion forward footwear."

Sam laughed and slapped him on the back. "There you go looking on the bright side."

With the tension broken, both men began to move in unison.

Earlier on, just after Michael and Fiona left, they had worked out an emergency exit strategy. So while Jesse cut the bindings around Grey's ankles and dragged him up on to his feet, Sam went to the back door and carefully pried the rotten wooden panels away from the gap in the wall.

Once they had a way out, Sam cautiously peered outside, squinting as the bright South American sun beat down on them. It was silent- too silent. Even the usual buzzing of the thousands of insects which seemed to be everywhere was gone. To somebody as experienced as Sam it smelt like a trap.

"Hold on," he spoke over his shoulder, as his eyes continued to scan the large yard overgrown with weeds and filled with a variety of trash. "I don't like it. It feels wrong."

"So, we dig in here," Jesse surmised, keeping a tight hold on Grey. "Or we can throw super merc here out the door and see who blows his head off." He gave a reluctant Grey a slight shove towards the opening.

Sam pursed his lips. It was a tempting idea, but unfortunately they needed the man if they were to stand a chance of bringing Card down. Edging forward, Sam poked his head out just a fraction to get a better look. Stepping outside was a big risk. Every bone in Sam's body told him they would be walking into an ambush. But to stay inside was just as bad. All it would take was one 50 calibre rifle and the walls of the tumbled down house would fall in on top of them.

Sucking in his cheeks, Sam wiped away the sweat on his forehead. There was no good choice here.

"Cover me," he ordered. If he was going to die in Panama, it wouldn't be hiding in a derelict building waiting to be put out of his misery.

Stepping out into the open, he ducked down low and took off running as fast as he could in a zigzag course across the yard, making it to the high boundary wall without a shot being fired. After taking a couple of deep breaths, he gestured for Jesse to join him. Cocking his gun which held less than half a clip of ammunition, he scanned the area for hidden enemies as Jesse sprinted across to join him, dragging Tyler Grey with him.

With their backs against the high stone wall which marked the boundary of the back of the property, they paused for a moment to catch their breaths and prepare for the next part of the plan to get over the wall and hopefully away from whoever was closing in on their position.

The rough rumbling sound of an old truck pulling up on the other side of the wall caused all three men to freeze. The creak of a door opening and then the scrape of a foot scrambling for a toehold on the stone surface warned them that somebody was attempting to climb over.

Jesse pushed Grey flat onto the ground and joined Sam, waiting with his gun at the ready, knowing that the instant they opened fire the slim chance they had of sneaking away undetected would be gone.

A dark head of hair appeared first, followed immediately by the familiar features of Michael Westen.

"Jesus, Mike, I nearly shot you, man," Jesse grumbled.

"Not now, Jess'. There's a whole troop of soldiers going house to house and coming this way," Michael answered in clipped tones from his position on top of the wall. "C'mon Fi's got us a place to stay and a way out." He held out a hand and helped Sam to climb up and over to the other side.

Next, with Michael pulling and Jesse pushing, they managed to get Grey over and into Sam's waiting arms.

"Yo, so where's Fi?" Jesse asked as soon as his feet hit the ground.

"With our new best friends," Michael replied evasively, not wanting to explain that he had left her behind deliberately in an effort to keep her out of danger. "Come on, we should go. I'll tell you all about it on the way." He stared pointedly in the direction of a sudden distant crackle of gunfire. "We should get moving."

Dragging their captive between them, they reached the pick-up and realized there was no way they were all going to fit inside.

"It's okay. I'll take the open air seat." Jesse offered, running a hand over his shaven head. "I've got the 'do for it. But your buddy will have to travel up front with you guys."

"Great." Michael shot Grey a look filled with venom. "Let's get this over with."

In a matter of minutes Michael was driving out of the side street and heading back to Aiden Malloy's villa. The streets were still narrow and filled with pedestrians, not only on the pavement but in the road as well. As they got further away from the derelict house they began to relax, finally something was going their way.

Slowing to take a sharp corner, Michael managed to dig his elbow into Grey's side and when the mercenary winced and shifted closer to Sam, Michael took the opportunity to stamp down on his foot too. Just having his brother's killer in such close proximity was driving him insane. Each time he blinked, he saw a vivid image of Nate's blood soaked body.

"So, Mikey, what have you done with Fiona?" Sam asked, trying to take the younger man's attention away from inflicting pain on their prisoner.

Michael sighed and for a moment Sam thought his friend wasn't going to reply.

"Believe it or not," he began. "We ran into one of her dad's old friends and his son owns a plane. He can't take us home for a couple of days. So until then the old man is willing to let us stay with him."

Sam raised an eyebrow at the news, but it wasn't what he had asked. "So, what about Fi? Are you telling me she wanted to stay behind and trade stories with some old guy who used to know her dad?"

"Not exactly," Michael admitted. "I didn't ask her. I mean, only one of us needed to come get you and the old guy seemed so happy to see her," Michael tried to explain away his actions.

"Huh, you might be better off taking your chances out on the streets, brother. Fiona is gonna be mighty pissed off at ya."

Michael half turned his head to answer when the large truck in front of them suddenly came to a stop. Stamping on the brake, he tried to see out of the window what had caused the jam.

"Jess, can you -"

"Already on it, Mike," Jesse shouted, climbing out of the back to take a look further along the street.

He was soon at Michael's side, leaning in the window. "Yeah, big surprise, it's a roadblock," he snapped and then, after a quick look behind them at the car which was parked right up behind them, concluded, "And we're not going anywhere in this. Not now. Besides I can't see us trying to run a blockade with your borrowed hoop-tee."

Michael grimaced and then gave the truck a little pat on the steering wheel. "It's not that bad," he refuted Jesse's claim that Aiden Malloy's truck was an old wreck.

"They might not be looking for us," Sam said, his optimistic comment earning him a scathing look from both Michael and Jesse. "I'm just sayin' we might not be the only guys on the run in the whole of San Miguelito," he tried to explain himself.

"Yeah, well, I don't think we want to risk it." Michael was climbing out of the truck, dragging Grey with him. "It's not far now. The plane is on an airfield just off Calle del Phillipe and the guy's name is Malloy."

"Hold up, Mike. You are not thinking of taking off with-" Sam's words were cut off by Jesse's equally concerned speech.

"Mike, don't even go there."

"No, no. It's just in case we get split up," Michael tried to reassure his friends. "Just so you'll know where to go. Now let's get moving."

"Whoa, wait a minute." Sam had hold of Grey's arm, holding the assassin still. "We walk around with a bound and gagged prisoner somebody is gonna notice."

"We are not releasing him," Michael growled, tensing as all the anger bubbled back to the surface.

"No, that's not what I'm saying. But how about the gag?"

Michael stared long and hard at his brother's killer before reaching out and ripping the gag from Grey's mouth. "You're in this as deep as we are. You do anything to attract attention or try to run, I'll kill you and if I miss, just remember Card probably wants you dead, too."

The two men stared at each other until finally Grey dropped his eyes to stare at the ground. "I've got nowhere to go, Westen. So you lead the way."

It wasn't exactly a promise to behave, but they had no time for a debate. Nodding sharply, Michael relaxed slightly and moved away.

Abandoning the truck, they pushed their way through the locals, who were crowding the pavement. Keeping their heads down and trying to look inconspicuous, Michael led the way towards a narrow alley which he hoped would lead them away from the army patrols.

However, they hadn't factored in the tense angry vibes Michael was sending out in waves or how much attention Tyler Grey, being battered, bruised and with his wrists tied together with cable ties, would get them.

"Oh, hell," Sam groaned, as four soldiers who had been stood on the other side of the road suddenly began to move in their direction. "Mikey, we need to get off this street now!"

Grey saw his chance as all three of his captors looked across the street. Giving no warning of what he planned to do, he erupted into violence.

Coming to an abrupt stop, he stamped down on Jesse's exposed toes and then used the back of his skull to crash into the younger man's nose. Reeling, Jesse fell back a step and Grey turned and sprinted into the crowd.

"No!" Michael yelled in fury and took off after his quarry.

"Dammit, Mike! Stop!" Sam made a grab for his friend,but missed by a hair. Cursing, he helped steady Jesse while trying to keep an eye on the soldiers who were now splitting up; two were coming toward him and Jesse while the other two took off at a greater pace after Michael and fleeing Grey.

"C'mon, we can't stay here." Sam grabbed Jesse by the arm, dragging him in the opposite direction of the fast approaching soldiers. "Mike'll find us. We gotta go."

Continuing to tug on Jesse's arm, Sam led the way along the street and then, when bullets started flying in their direction, he lead the way up a steep set of steps and into the lobby of a small hotel.

Skidding to a halt, they paused just long enough to get their bearings before they took off again, running past the reception area and narrowly missing knocking over an elderly couple on their way out. The smell of food attracted their attention and moments later they crashed through a set of wooden swinging doors into the kitchen.

Behind them they could hear the frightened shouts of bystanders and the thud of heavy boots of the pursuing soldiers.

Darting to the back of the small kitchen, they fell upon the door marked as an exit and found themselves in a narrow alley filled with garbage from the row of businesses on the main street. Without stopping, they sprinted away, hoping they were going to be able to out run the soldiers.

()()

Michael's sole focus was on Tyler Grey's back. There was no way on earth he was letting Nate's killer get away. He had only let the man live because at first he had wanted him to stand trial for what he had done. But now he needed him alive to prove Card's guilt. Without Grey, they had no proof at all that they had been set up to die. It would be the word of an ex burned spy against a highly decorated senior agent.

Ignoring the pain from his ribs, Michael pumped his arms and legs and pushed through the crush of people waiting to pass through the blockade. Then when he finally saw a gap, he launched himself forward.

Michael's shoulder hit Grey in the small of the back and bore him to the ground. Soon they were rolling around on the pavement, Michael handicapped by his cracked rib and Grey with his wrists still secured by cable ties.

Eventually Michael got the upper hand, pinning Grey to the ground. With a snarl of fury, he pulled his gun from his waistband and thrust the muzzle into the assassin's neck. "Give it up, or die," he growled, cocking back the hammer and preparing to fire if Grey showed any resistance.

"I couldn't have said that better myself."

Michael slowly turned his head, the red fog of anger lifting as he saw that he was the one who was caught.

A man most likely in his fifties wearing a smart uniform with a major's insignia glared down at him. With the Major were eight soldiers, all with rifles pointing at the two Americanos del Norte.

"Drop your weapon and put your hands on your head." the Major spoke perfect English with a crisp, accent-less tone. His dark brown eyes were like cold dark pits and his mouth curved into a sadistic smirk as Michael let the gun drop.

"I don't suppose I can convince you we're just a couple of tourists?"

"No, you cannot." He turned to the man nearest to him. "Llevarlos. Bring them.”

As the Major finished speaking, the lights went out as first Michael and then Grey were struck with rifle stocks in the head.

()()

Having burst out of the back entrance to the hotel, Sam and Jesse took off along the alley, but only as far as the first open door they came to. Slipping inside, they found themselves in a small dark cantina. Moving quickly, they exited through the front door and back on to the main street.

The pavement was packed with people being forced back by angry shouting men waving their guns at the crowd. Mingling in amongst the chaos, Sam and Jesse had a good idea what was causing the fuss and pushing further into the crowd hoping to catch a glimpse of their friends fate.

"Oh jeez," Sam groaned.

From their position on the pavement, closed in on all sides by civilians, all they could do was watch helplessly as Michael and Grey's limp bodies were dragged along the street by a group of soldiers and then thrown unceremoniously into the back of an open bed truck.

At that moment, Sam came close to forgetting all his years of training. There was no way he could watch his friend being dragged off to god only knew what fate. With thoughts of having to tell Fiona and then later on Maddy that he had stood by while Michael was taken to his death filling his head, it was too much to bear.

Without conscious thought, his hand slid behind him to the comforting grip of his gun. It was Jesse who grabbed his wrist and held him back.

"Whoa, easy there, big guy. You're gonna get us all killed. It's the Militia that's got Mike." Jesse kept a tight hold on the older man. "Look at el jefe, you think those smart lookin' perfectly fitting, shiny leather boots are standard issue? This is a job for my man Chuck Finley. There ain't nothin' a little palm greasing can't fix with those guys."

Sam slowly relaxed, his hand coming away from his gun. "Yeah, well, we haven't exactly got a lot of cash to spread around, Jesse," he retorted, his heart sinking as the truck started up and rumbled off down the street.

Jesse shrugged,"Okay, then, Panamanian prison break, we just have to-"

"We have to go – now!" Sam, interrupted, nodding to where the soldiers were starting to disperse the crowd.

Even as they backed away, they felt unfriendly eyes on them. As the crowd thinned, a shout went out: "Hey! Alto! Ahí están! Alto! "

"I think they want us to surrender," Jesse commented as they took off running again.

Sam and Jesse had run and at times had hidden until at last all the sounds of pursuit had ceased. Jesse had lost one of his "stylish designers" boots when the sole had been ripped away climbing up a drain pipe, while Sam was breathing so hard he was having to lean against the chain link fence that marked the perimeter to the Calle del Phillipe airfield.

"So what do we do now?" Jesse asked. "We gotta find Fi quick and you're gonna have to tell her Mike's gone."

Sam held up a hand as he fought to gain control of his breathing. Finally, he straightened up and felt ready to talk.

"First off, Mike is not gone, he's not. We know who's got him; we just don't know where, that's all. And second, what's all this 'you're gonna have to tell her.'? We're in this together, buddy." He paused and thought some more about it. "We'll just have to make sure she isn't armed when we tell her... Now, let's go find this guy Malloy and then we can work out how we're gonna get Mikey back."

Jesse looked up and down the fence, the place looked deserted. "Okay, old man, do you need a boost to get over this dinky lil fence?"

Scowling Sam eyed the eight foot chain link. "Here, let an old man show you how it's done. Easy peasy."

As he replied, Sam turned, reached up and scrambled up and over the fence before landing heavily on the other side with a grin. When Jesse joined him, they jogged warily across the open space to the nearest hanger.

()()

Michael Westen came to while riding on the floor of a military truck. Opening his eyes, he stared at a neat row of twelve dust covered laced boots. When he attempted to turn his head to look up, one of those boots rose and then fell, catching him a glancing blow to the side of the head. Taking the hint from then on, he kept still and chose to wait for the right moment to act.

After what he thought was a short journey, he was forced to his feet and out of the truck. With Tyler Grey at his side, they weren't given any chance to look around or resist in any way. As they were pushed and dragged along, Michael realized with horror that they were not at a police station or military barracks. They were being taken inside what looked like an abandoned factory.

Before they had had time to think clearly, both men were tied securely to metal struts running from the floor to the ceiling. When the last of the soldiers stepped back, the major who had originally captured them step forward holding what looked like a cattle prod in his hand.

"I have had gun fights on my streets, buildings blown up and an unmarked fighter jet flew over my city, firing a missile. You can see why I am angry, yes?" As he spoke, he walked back and forth in front of his prisoners.

"You have nothing to say? Either of you?" The major shook his head sadly. "So be it."

Without warning he pressed the end of the cattle prod into Michael's side over his broken rib, smiling when the Americano struggled and tried to muffle a scream behind tightly clenched teeth. After five seconds, he removed the cattle prod and waited patiently while Michael coughed and choked as he caught his breath.

"Senor Grey, do you have anything to say? I must warn you, it was one of your men who told us of your involvement."

Grey took a deep breath and shook his head. When the cattle prod dug into his right shoulder, he managed to keep quiet but his body was locked rigid and his eyes filled with tears.

"I will find out what is happening in my city and I will bring it to an end." He turned away sharply. "Sergeant, I want answers. Soften them up for me while I go and fetch their friends."

As the major walked away, he smiled as he heard first one and then the other American del Norte scream. Reaching his car, he looked at his second in command.

"The CIA man, Reid, tell him I want a word."


	3. Guns & Grenades

Guns and Grenades.

"Sorcha, darlin', I t'ink our guest could do wit' sommit ta eat. Go sort us out some chicken sandwiches. Thar's a luv."

Aiden Malloy sent his granddaughter out of the room before turning his attention back to his guest, who even an hour after her boyfriend had run off, was still pacing about his living room with her hands on her hips and her head bowed.

"I get a wee bit cranky too when I haven't eaten fer a while... So ya mind tellin' what has ya wearing a hole in me favorite rug, sweetheart?" he inquired in the same light hearted manner he had used since meeting up with his new friends.

Fiona stopped in her tracks and glared over at the old man. She had been abandoned by Michael after he had promised they were going to work together to bring down his brother's killer and now it appeared that she was the source of amusement for an old man she hadn't seen for over thirty years.

"Oh, Ah remember tha look," he smirked, not at all bothered by the death glare being sent in his direction. "Yar mammy used ta send it our way when me an' yar daddy went off on a job."

"This is not tha same," Fiona ground out. "I'm not me mudder."

"Nah, yar not, an' thot fella o' yers ain't a bit like yar daddy. I tell ya, girl, ya need ta be watchin' ya sel' around ham. He's a dangerous man, so he is. I could see it in his eyes."

"No, no, he is not normally so," she shrugged her shoulders. "He's just under a lot of stress -" She wanted to defend Michael, but realized the old man was right. Michael was wound so tight he was a danger to everybody around him. He was so focused on revenge, he was forgetting about everything else and that was why she was so annoyed with him for running off. He needed her at his side to keep him grounded.

"Stress, ha! Yar world is fallin' apart an' ya cannae see a way outta o' tha bloody fate waitin' fer ya... Tell me yar troubles, girl, an' we'll see wha' we can put right."

She dropped down into the nearest chair, not knowing how much to tell him or what he could possibly do to help. She trusted him implicitly. He had been in her life throughout her childhood. He had been a close friend to both her parents and, from what she could recall, like an uncle to all her siblings. She was just so tired of the constant drama that seemed to have haunted them for the last year. She couldn't think straight any more.

"Michael has – a very powerful boss who wants him dead." She decided that she would keep the CIA out of their discussion as long as possible. "This person has ruined his life and killed his brother and now he has us all trapped here in Panama. We have no way to get home, no idea who is after us, no money, no weapons and not a chance of getting away from the man when and if we do get home; he is too powerful." She felt sick. Saying out loud had just made everything so much worse.

"Soo this fella o' yars, he's tha sorta a man whose enemies have ta use missile ta kill ham? Am t'inking this old boss ya mentioned is called Uncle Sam?"

"You know about that?!"

"Oh, sweetheart, when Tommy O'Neill put tha word out, it traveled far n' fast. Fiona Glenanne taking up wit' an American spy, an' takin' thar's a big hole in what wa' downtown San Miguelito, it donnae take a genius ta work it all out... What d'ya brudders have ta say about tha boyfriend?"

Fiona sighed. "Sean stood up fer us, but tha rest o' tham-" She wiped a hand over her eyes. "I've not spoken o any o' tham fer nigh on three years."

"Old hatreds, darlin'," he commiserated and then suddenly brightened. "Still dey haven't tried ta kill ya, so they cannae be too mad..."

The comment caused the corners of Fiona's lips to curve into a small smile. "But it doesn't change the fact that we're screwed." The smile faded.

Aiden shook his head and rose up from his chair to stand in front of her. He lifted one finger. "Young people, yar always lookin' on tha dark side... Ya have a way home, or had ya forgotten about me boy Kenny an' his plane?" The first finger was joined by a second. "Ya know exactly whose affer ya, ye tol'd me so not but a few minutes ago, an' if ya use tha brain god gave ya, yer could work out who tha man would send affer tha missile failed ta do the job." He brought up a third finger. "Now I cannae help ya wit' money, but if ya ask nicely, I might see me way clear ta lend ya a gun or two." He held out his whole hand. "Come wit' me, Fiona Glenanne, an see what ya think o' me collection."

He took her into his garage and her eyes lit up as soon as she saw the beautifully maintained weaponry on display. This was more than she could have hoped for. Two AK47s, three AR15s and a Mossberg 500 pump action shotgun. All looked well used but in good condition.

"I know it's probably a lot less than ya normally work wit'." He opened a drawer and revealed half a dozen different hand guns.

She cut him off with a kiss to his cheek. "Thank you!"

Aiden Malloy was right. Things weren't as bad as she first thought. She'd been so busy looking at their problems and trying to contain Michael that she had forgot they had found a friend.

"Ah, Yer still gonna 'ave ta deal wid tha C..I...A. Thot tis yar man's old boss, am I right?"

"Not the whole CIA, jus' one of tha bastards," she admitted as she ran her fingertips over the weapons.

"Well, wit' this little lot, mabbe ya can surprise ham."

"I'd like to surprise him with a kilo of high explosive under his chair," Fiona muttered.

"Really?" Aiden spoke with glee. "Cos if ya mean it... Come wit' me. Kenny does nae approve o' me little projects. But I kin see ya still yer daddy's girl."

Rounding a stack of old furniture, she found a work top and several shelves packed with different jars filled with a variety of chemicals. Her eyes went round.

"Oh my," she breathed softly.

Aiden shuffled forward and started to pull several of the jars down off the shelves, placing them on the table before her. "C'mon, girl, show me yar skills. I remember ya an' Sean sitting watching as me and yar daddy worked. Ya were a natural luv."

With the assistance of somebody as enthusiastic as herself, Fiona set to work. She knew Aiden was distracting her. There was no way any bomb she made here was going to make it back to the States, but it kept her mind off what Michael was up to. Besides, she always thought better when her hands were being kept busy.

"Yar mammy had some skills too, ya know, a real eye fer detail. Your daddy use ta leave har his recipe book if he wa' goin' ta be away fer a while... Oooh, sweetheart, watch tha Magnesium thar..."

()()

"Hey – Jess' – j – just – hold – on." Sam puffed as he leaned against the side of the first aircraft hangar they came across.

"C'mon, man," Jesse urged the older man to keep up the momentum. "Maybe when we get back, you should try spending more time in the pool than poolside knocking back the mojitos."

"You've been talkin' to Elsa," Sam accused. "I'll have you know I'm in the best shape I've been in for six years." His breathing was returning to normal quickly. Sucking in his stomach, Sam patted his abdomen to show what he meant.

"Seriously,Sam?" Jesse raised an eyebrow, while looking the older man up and down.

"Yeah, well I think all the meals I've missed chasin' after Mike might have had something to do with it. When we get back, I'm gonna suggest to the little lady we take a vacation somewhere without phones.

"Huh," Jesse looked down at his feet, or rather toes. The sock had finally given up under the abuse. "I'd settle for somewhere selling cheap kicks. This friend of Fi's better have a decent shoe collection from the Big and Tall store, man. For the record, I'm barefoot now."

Both men were nearing the end of their reserves. They had been on the run all day, with very little to eat or drink. The heat and humidity was going to finish them both off if they didn't get supplies soon.

Taking in a deep breath, Jesse let it out slowly. "You keep watch while I check it out."

Keeping close to the side of the building, Jesse crept round to the front. The tall, wide doors were shut and locked, but there was a side door which, when Jesse carefully tried the handle, clicked open. Peering inside, he let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding and slipped inside. The place was empty, except for one back corner where behind a long wooden work bench, there was a single chair, a sink and, much to Jesse's relief, a fridge.

Sticking his head out of the door, Jesse beckoned Sam to join him inside. "Hey Sam, the place is empty and they've got a fridge."

Both men rushed across the open space to the refrigerator and sighed with delight at the sight of several bottles of water. Snatching out two, Jesse handed one to Sam and then reached back inside to pull out a pack of cold meat and a small block of cheese.

As they ate the small supply of food and guzzled down the water, Jesse checked on the sorry state of his feet while Sam went rummaging through the drawers under the work bench coming up with a couple of hammers, three long screwdrivers and a heavy wrench.

"Hopefully we won't need them, but this lot is better than nothing," he commented, passing Jesse a screwdriver and the wrench.

With a bit of food in their stomachs and their thirst quenched, they moved on. The next hangar was on the other side of a large open patch of long grass and tangled weeds interspersed with old rusting engine parts. The only way through it whilst remaining out of sight was crawl on their bellies. From their hiding place in the long grass, they listened to the sounds of loud music and rapid Spanish speech.

"I don't see anybody there who looks like their last name is Malloy," Sam commented as they watched four men walk out into the open, still arguing at the top of their voices.

Shifting his position, Jesse scanned the rest of the airfield, pursing his lips as he digested the size of their problem. There were eight more hangers to check out, and they were all spread out, meaning there was also plenty of chances of being seen.

"This could take a while," he muttered.

"It gives us longer to think of what we're going to say to Fiona," Sam replied. He was worried though, because the longer it took to find Fiona, the harder it was going to be to find Michael. Waiting until the men from the second hangar went back inside, they crawled through the grass to an old plane fuselage and from there sprinted over to the third hangar.

As soon as they got close, they knew they had found the right place as they heard a loud clatter and bang, followed by a stream of curses with a strong Irish brogue.

"I think we've found the Lucky Charms man," Jesse grinned, unable to hide his relief.

"Let's hope so," Sam replied.

They entered the cool of the hangar and walked round the cargo plane, following the grumbling complaints of a man who had nearly severed a thumb on a piece of stubborn machinery. As soon as they approached the mechanic's position, he turned to stare warily at them.

"Can I help ya?" he asked not bothering to hide his suspicion.

"Er, hi there," Sam smiled, walking forward keeping his hands in plain sight. "The name is Sam. I'm looking for a friend. She's about so high." He held a hand about where Fiona's head would be. "Name's Fiona? I was told you'd know where to find her?"

He could tell that the man didn't trust him completely, so he upped the charm offensive to a full blown, patented Sam Axe reassuring smile. "My friend, Mike, told us to come here. We got separated. He said Fiona was with an old friend of the family. Her dad knew your dad." He was running out of information, he watched as the man slowly reached a decision.

"She went home with me daddy... I'll call em. Wait har." Kenny backed away keeping a wary eye on the two strangers as he reached into his jacket for his phone.

"Sorcha, honey, whar's yar grandpa?... Well, go get ham, an' his new friend, I've got some fella's lookin' fer har." Kenny Malloy kept his eye on the two men as he waited for his daughter to find his father, all the time wondering what piece of mischief the old man was getting into.

"Da, thar's two men har say thar friends o' Fiona's..." He looked over at his guests, who were doing their best to look calm and friendly. "What are ya names?"

"I'm Sam Axe and this is Jesse Porter," Sam answered.

"Daddy?" Kenny nodded and then put his phone away. "He wants me ta take ya over ta tha house." He wiped his hands clean and then led the way outside to where his blue pick-up, which was in better condition than the one Michael had borrowed, stood waiting.

()()

"Ya should have given me tha phone. Whar's Michael? Did they say anythin'? Dammit, we should get over thar. D'ya have another vehicle?" Fiona was back to pacing. Pulling her hair up off her neck, she wound it into a bun and wrapped a band around her tangled tresses.

"They'll be har soon, Lassie. Ya need ta calm yersel' down."

"Something's happened ta Michael. Why else would they turn up at the airfield without ham?" She paused, her whole body tense with a mix of fear and anger. Turning slowly, she regarded the small stockpile of weapons and the explosive device she had just completed with Aiden's assistance.

"Let's get all this packed. Because if Michael is harmed in any way, I'm gonna use tha whole bloody lot."

"Now, yar t'inking." Aiden couldn't contain his glee as he started to search for a suitable bag to carry everything.

"Granddaddy?"

Aiden twisted his head round to the garage door. "Wha' tis it, darlin'?"

Sorcha Malloy bit down on her lip and twisted a thick strand of long black hair around her fingers. "A truck full o' soldiers jus' pulled up on tha drive an' a coupla tham are coming up tha path."

Instantly Fiona started feverishly loading the hand guns, her eyes filled with the light of battle. Aiden however stopped her by placing a gnarled hand on her arm. "Sorcha, show Fiona, whar ta hide. I'll go an talk ta tha soldiers."

"No!" Fiona suddenly felt the old rush of fear, which used to fill her whenever soldiers used to burst into the family home. Her heart hammered in her chest as Aiden stared into her eyes, his calm demeanor settling her nerves.

"Ya wait outta sight until I give ya tha all clear. It's nuttin ta worry about. I've been doing this fer o' er sixty years. I know what am doin'." Patting her arm, he walked back into the house, kissing his granddaughter on his way past.

"Come this way," Sorcha pointed to another door.

Fiona solemnly shook her head and held a finger up to her lips. Then she too went back into the house with a loaded handgun in each hand. Aiden Malloy might indeed know how to deal with the local militia, but there was a very good chance these men were in the employ of Tom Card.

Staying out of sight, with her guns at the ready, she watched as Aiden approached the front door to answer the loud knocks.

"Uno momento, por favor,"he called out, his voice more cracked and frail than she had heard before.

As he swung the door open, Fiona tensed, her fingers slipping inside the trigger guards of her weapons.

"Sorry, sorry for taking so long Capitan."

Aiden's whole body language had changed along with his speech. Fiona's admiration of the old man was growing by the second as he gave a brilliant performance of an ancient confused man. She listened intently to the conversation taking place.

"Senor Malloy, can you explain why your vehicle has been discovered in the hands of two American spies?"

"My vehicle?" His Spanish was flawless with no trace at all of his native accent.

"We have traced a red truck to this address. If you cannot answer, you will have to come with us and explain to my superiors."

Aiden's hand shook as he leaned against the door frame. His voice, if possible, quavered even more than before. "Oh – oh please, my son will stop me driving. I lost it. I – I went to the store and – I guess I left the keys inside... Please. Please don't tell my son." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of crumpled bills. Thrusting the money into the Captain's hand, he clutched onto the man's sleeve. "Please take it. Just don't tell him. Please. He said if it happened again – "

"That is enough," the leader of the soldiers snapped, brushing Aiden's hands away and pocketing the cash. "Let go, old man. Your vehicle has been confiscated. If you want it back you will have to come to headquarters and pay the fine."

Aiden waited at the door until the last of the soldiers disappeared and then he straightened up and turned to grin at Fiona. "Ah tol' ya ta wait in tha hidey hole... D'ya ever do as ya tol'?"

She ignored his words, moving to go past him. "We should follow them. They could lead us ta Michael."

"Follow 'em in wha'? Me truck's been confiscated. Dinnae har tha soldier boy? 'sides thot wa' Capitan Rico Geraldo. He's second ta a right nasty bastid called Diego Montoya... Ah'll make a few calls an' see if ah kin find out whare he's stashing his prisoners nowadays."

()()

"Well, we're har." Kenny Malloy pulled up onto the driveway. "Jus' remember wha' I said about yar lady friend. She sounded mighty upset. I could hear har shriekin' all tha way through tha phone line."

"Ha, upset, that sounds like our Fiona." Sam laughed nervously. "I told Mike she would be pissed at being left behind."

"Yeah, but now she's gonna be puttin' those designer boots up our asses!" Jesse complained.

Kenny unlocked the front door and led the way inside. "Wha' have ya ta be scared of? She sounded real upset, but, ach, she's a tiny wee thing."

"Uh-huh, You do know the Glenannes?" Sam asked as he scanned the interior of the villa preparing to duck; he was pretty sure there was a small angry Irish pixie lying in wait for them somewhere inside.

"Aye, I knew 'em, me Da knows 'em better." Kenny looked around clearly frustrated at not finding his father in the house. "Dammit, come wit' me... Tha ol' fool, I swear one day he'll blow us all ta kingdom come."

The Irishman took them through to the garage and all three of them came to a stop at the hive of activity taking place before them. Kenny's daughter Sorcha was helping her granddaddy load spare clips for the small stockpile of handguns before them, while Fiona was stood at a wooden work bench, filling old tin cans with a mixture of chemicals and ball bearings.

"Fiona, I can explain." Sam edged closer to her position, his stress levels rising when he realized she was making home-made grenades.

"Really?" She looked up, her eyes filled with barely suppressed fury. "Please, go ahead. Explain to me how you and Jesse let Michael get taken by a psychotic major in the Panamanian army?"

"Look, sister, it wasn't like that. We didn't let him get taken. He ran off after Grey when he made a break for it. There was nothing we could do." He pulled his gun out and waved it in his hand. "No bullets, remember?"

"Well, luckily for you, we have some now," she snapped and threw the just finished grenade straight at him.

Fumbling the catch, Sam just managed to stop it hitting the ground. "Hey, lady, don't take it out on me! You know what Mike's like and stop throwing your home made do-hickeys at me."

"Now, now, calm down, children," Aiden called out. "We gotta a man ta rescue."

For the first time Sam and Jesse got a good look at Fiona's new best friend. It was Jesse who raised a hand and stepped forward between his bickering friends.

"Er, Fi, Fiona, can we get a word, in private like?"

"Whare all friends har, fella," Aiden replied before Fiona could speak.

"Nae, Da, it's fine... I t'ink me an' ye need ta have a wee talk as well," Kenny intervened, taking hold of his parent's arm as he marched the older man out of the room. "Sorcha," he called over his shoulder. "You too, girl."

As soon as they were alone, Sam and Jesse moved to face Fiona over the work bench.

"That's the guy who is going to help us out?" Sam asked, his voice filled with disbelief. "Jeez, Fi, what are you thinking the guy is ancient.

"Seriously, Fi? The dude's older than Sam!" Jesse added.

"He's an old family friend from Ireland and, in case you hadn't noticed, it's his son who has the plane that's going to get us home and he is letting us borrow his guns... Guns, we are going to need to get Michael back."

Jesse closed his mouth in the face of Fiona's anger, but Sam wasn't finished. "You can't drag these people into our battle. You'll get them killed."

She huffed and straightened up, but then she realized Sam was right. Aiden Malloy had to be close to eighty years old. "We need them as tactical support... Let him help with loading the guns, but I'll talk to him and explain that he can't come along."

Seeing that Fiona had backed down, Jesse reached out and picked up one the completed grenades. "So what's this?" he asked.

"Ya, light tha fuse an' then throw it as far as ya can," Fiona explained in clipped tones.

"And then if you haven't lost a hand because it's gone off early, you run and hide." Sam added, taking the device out of Jesse's hand and carefully placing it back on the table. "I heard all about these home-made explosives from a buddy I had in the SAS. He told me how unstable these things are, how a lot of folks blew their own hands off with them."

"You're questioning my bomb making skills?" she asked indignantly, her eyes narrowing at the slur on her skills.

"No! No, jeez," Sam raised his hands in surrender. "So do we know where Mikey is being held?" He changed the subject.

"Aiden is working on that. Just before you arrived, the second in command of the local militia called round. They'd found Aiden's truck on the street."

"And they just split?" Jesse asked with disbelief.

She nodded, smiling at the memory of Aiden Malloy's performance. "He should have been actor. Now, let's get ready for action because as soon as we know where Michael is being held, we're going to be on our way."

"Er Fi, do you think you can ask your friends their shoe sizes and maybe get me some kicks?" He wiggled his toes to make his point.

()()

Michael opened his eyes and moaned softly. He felt utterly exhausted. The pain from his busted rib radiated out throughout his chest and his shoulder, which had taken the brunt of the assaults from the cattle prod, was so sore and tender that the merest flex of his muscles sent up a fresh agony. His hands were still cuffed behind his back, but instead of being held upright against a metal post, he was now lying on a cold hard concrete floor.

"Good news, Westen," Tyler Grey's barely audible voice sounded harsh and slurred.

Slowly twisting around so he could see where the hired killer was sitting slumped against a brick wall, Michael was pleased to see the man looked like he had taken just as severe beating as he had.

"I heard our host talkin'. He's offering up your head to some CIA Agent called Reid."

Michael ran his tongue around the inside of his lips, wincing at the coppery taste of blood. "So why are you so happy? Card wants you dead, too."

Grey shook his head. "He didn't know I was in that building or in the car. When this Reid guy gets here, I'll be let go."

Michael snorted in disbelief that the other man could be so naïve. Struggling to get into a sitting position, he took a couple of deep breaths, wishing he could get a hand to his side to support his rib.

"Didn't know or care. To Card,you're just another a loose end. I guarantee you'll be dead alongside me as soon as this Reid guy turns up. We should be working together to get out of here."

Grey shook his head. "Work with you? You're a goddamn traitor – Card showed me your file."

"It's all a lie. I've been set up."

"Really? Come on, man. You went off the reservation, burned spies, blew operations. You're a disgrace and as soon as this Agent Reid arrives, I'm going to be released because I'm gonna offer to tell him where to find the rest of your team."

Michael tensed to throw himself at the other man. He wanted nothing more than to get his hands around his brother's killer's throat and to look into Tyler Grey's eyes as he choked the life out of him.

But it wasn't the fact his hands were secured behind his back, or that he was so beaten down he lacked the strength to launch an attack that stopped him. It was the loud crashing BOOM coming from outside the room, followed by the lumps of crumbling rumble that fell on top of them that sent both men flat to the floor and seeking cover.


	4. To The Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Michael and Grey were in the hands of militia, back at Aiden Molloy's hacienda the rest of Team Westen were drawing up plans.

"Fiona, lass, tis alright wit' yar friends fer me ta come back in ta me own workshop?" Aiden Malloy strolled into the garage, his mocking tone and the twinkle in his blue eyes showing there was no hard feelings. "I know I'm jus' a weak an' feeble auld man, and am not wanting ta intrude on all ya important spy talk." He stopped to pick up a rag and began to wipe down the work bench.

"We don't think of you like that," Fiona glared at her friends, and then walked over to Aiden's side, slipping one of her arms around his. "It's just me friends thar don't have any manners." She leaned in and whispered in his ear. "Thar Americans, Mr. Malloy, they don't know how ta show proper respect."

"Mm," he agreed wholeheartedly. "I know wha' ya sayin', lass. Me boy has been away fram tha auld country fer so many years now, he's forgotten how ta respect his elders an' betters, too." He paused for a moment and then shrugged. "But I came ta say tha' I have some news that might help ya find yar missing friend. I got word fram a fella I know at tha airfield. Two o' tha bastid Montoya's soldados are stakin' out tha place."

"They must be on to us," Fiona snapped, her eyes going wide, their earlier playfulness gone in an instant.

"Calm down, Fi. He's probably got men watchin' all the routes outta town." Sam stepped forward. "Let's not start panicking until we know what's goin' on for sure." He reached over and picked up the fully loaded Mossberg shotgun. "Though, while we're lookin' it wouldn't hurt, if it's just the two of them, stopping by and asking them a few questions."

"I like your thinking." Fiona grabbed a Glock semi-automatic handgun and an AR15.

"Er – guys can we wait up while I sort out some footwear. Please?" Jesse pointed at his feet. "Barefoot, remember?"

Fiona turned, her lips pursed into a tight line. There was no time to lose; the quicker they got to interrogate Montoya's men, the quicker they would find Michael. "Why don't you get cleaned up and have all the weapons ready to go when we get back with the location of where they're holding Michael?"

"I should -" Jesse came towards them, but stopped when Fiona held up a hand.

"No, we can't wait. We need to go now and besides you'll be no good later on if you can't walk cuz your feet are ripped to pieces." She gave Sam a not so gentle shove towards the door, catching the keys for the pick-up truck from Aiden before they rushed out into the fading light of dusk in Panama.

()()

Leaving the truck in a deserted side street, Sam led the way over to the spot where earlier on he and Jesse had climbed over the chain link perimeter fence. Sucking in the deep breath, Sam waited for Fiona to land lightly on the other side and then clambered over after her.

"I've gotta running tally goin' and, at the moment, Mikey is paying for the next four times I take Big Momma out," he muttered as he brushed the dirt off the knees of his pants after his less than elegant landing. "If he keeps goin' lone wolf on us, he'll be payin' for our dinners out for the whole year."

"Oh, believe me, he's not going to be any state to do anything by the time I finish with him," Fiona replied. "I swear, the next time he attempts to run off, I'm going to shoot him in the leg."

Sticking to the perimeter, they began to circle the airfield until they caught a glimpse of two men in uniform casually walking out of one of the hangars. Sinking down low to the ground, Fiona and Sam studied the soldiers, noting how they seemed to be more interested in their conversation and smoking than actively searching for foreign spies.

"They're making it too easy," Fiona complained, taking up a grip on her AR15.

Sam's hand came down over the top of the barrel, pushing it down to point at the ground. "We're here to question them Fi, not shoot them."

"I can think of a lotta places I could shoot them and they'd still be able to talk. It might even speed up the interrogation."

"No," Sam replied firmly, taking his hand off the rifle. He pointed across to the empty hangar he had discovered earlier with Jesse. "We need to get them over there. Do you think you can get them to chase you?"

Fiona rolled her eyes and got up onto her knees, letting the AR15 hang on its strap. "Get two low life soldiers to follow me? Really, Sam, I learnt how ta do thot at fourteen years old, helping me brothers get revenge fer tham killin' me big brother." She watched until the soldiers turned away and then sprinted forward, aiming for a stockpile of oil drums.

Sam covered her as she closed in on Montoya's men. Once she was in position, Sam then made his way quickly to the empty hangar. Once there, all he had to do was wait for Fiona to lead the men to him.

He heard the shout and the order to stop. Then Fiona came running around the corner of the building. As she passed him, Sam could see the flush of excitement on her face. Only he didn't get long to look, as the fastest of her pursuers came barrelling around the corner straight into the stock of Sam's shotgun. As one soldier crumpled, the second tried to come to a stop, bring his rifle to bear and fix on his target all at once. Fiona didn't give him a chance to finish any of his moves as she stepped from behind Sam and delivered a swinging blow with the barrel of her rifle.

Standing over her victim, she tossed back her hair and smiled triumphantly. "Well, that was fun."

Sam snorted and huffed before throwing her some cable ties. "Let's get them out of sight before somebody gets curious. The side door isn't locked." He gestured with his head to the narrow door he had used earlier.

With their prisoners secured and now out of sight, Fiona paced in front of had no time to wait for the men to come back to their senses on their own. Stopping in between the soldiers, she drew back her booted foot, kicking first one and then the other hard in the leg.

Groaning, the first of the captives opened his eyes and looked up at a hard eyed rugged faced man and a petite crazy looking woman, who pushed the barrel of her gun under his jaw.

"Hablas Englese?" she purred.

The man looked worriedly from the woman to the man and then back to the gun wielding senorita.

"What do you want?" he gulped as Fiona's rifle barrel moved from his jaw to his groin.

"Where can we find your boss, Montoya?" Sam asked.

Their prisoner opened his mouth to answer when his companion suddenly came back to consciousness.

"No! Les digas nada!"

Fiona didn't hesitate; her rifle spun in her hand and the stock struck the second man a hard blow to the stomach. As he lay writhing on the floor, she turned her attention back to the first soldier. With a toothy grin, she returned the muzzle to his groin.

"You were saying?"

He gulped and then gulped again when he saw her finger curl around the trigger.

"You better answer quick, buddy. Your boss has her boyfriend and she's real possessive," Sam added.

"North of here in La Gallineta, there are some old factories. Empty now."

Fiona removed her finger from the trigger and the muzzle from where it had been resting. "There, that wasn't hard, was it?"

The soldier sighed and licked at his lips. "Major Montoya has contacted a man in the CIA... He is handing your friend over tonight." He paused, gazing at Fiona through frightened eyes. "Very soon."

Fiona and Sam stared at each other, both paling at the news that Michael was about to be sold to Tom Card's tactical squad. Then as one they began to move. While Fiona gathered up the soldiers' weapons and radios, Sam pulled out a roll of duct tape.

Once they had both men effectively silenced, they dragged the soldiers over to the kitchen area and then Fiona did something that took Sam totally by surprise.

Reaching under her top, she produced a stick of dynamite wired up to a small detonator.

"Fi," Sam voiced his concern.

She placed the stick into the waistband of the soldier who had given them the information and stuck the detonator switch under the heel of his partner's boot.

"Now, you need to explain to your friend that if he moves his foot off that switch, you'll both go BOOM!" She parted her arms, mimicking an explosion.

"Fiona!" Sam almost shouted, grabbing hold of her arm.

"Let's talk about this on our way to La Gallineta." She pulled free and stalked angrily towards the door, forcing Sam to give chase.

Outside he caught up to her and pulled her round, slamming her back against the hangar wall.

"Now listen here, Missy, we're not blowing up other country's militia, regardless of what they've done."

She sighed and smirked. "It isn't live... There's no explosive in it... It's just rolled up card with a detonator attached."

Sam's shoulders slumped and he shook his head in disbelief. "You're goddamn nuts, lady."

"But it will ensure they stay put while we get Michael back." She stepped away from the wall and began to run back to the truck. "Really, Sam, you must learn to show a bit of trust."

()()

They screeched to a stop outside Aiden Malloy's garage and jumped out.

"We gotta go now," Sam called out as he picked up a canvas bag filled with ammunition.

"We know where Michael is being held, but there is a CIA tac team heading there as well," Fiona filled in the gaps, as she grabbed a street map of San Miguelito off one of the shelves. "I need you to show us where the empty factories are in La Gallineta."

"I'll show ya. Kenny help them load up yar truck. You too, Sorcha."

Aiden cleared a spot and Fiona spread out the map.

"It's gonna take ya at least half an hour ta get thar." Aiden pointed to a southern part of the city. "Yar here, an' ya have ter to get ta here." He pointed to the north of the city and then pointed to a single block on the map. "There's a coupla empty factories around here."

Fiona studied the route she would take, running a finger along the paper, biting on her lip as she realized they would have to get across the entire city in the early evening traffic.

"Ya'll get lost, I'll come wit' ya, show ya tha way," Aiden offered.

For a moment, there was silence and then the room erupted.

"NO!" Everybody answered him at once.

Kenny Malloy crossed the space and pulled his father around to face him, his face flushed red with anger.

"Yar not goin'! Ya not thirty years old anymore an' this isn't Belfast or Newry. Yar seventy eight years auld. It's abou' time ya start actin' yar age," he roared at his father. "Now, go set wit' Sorcha."

The two Irishmen locked eyes,while the rest of the room remained quiet and then Aiden dropped his gaze and shuffled his feet.

"Am sorry, son," he muttered brokenly. Turning away from his son, he turned back to face Fiona, who stood at the work bench with her hand still hovering over the map.

"It's been nice seeing a friendly face fram back home. Take care, luv." He leaned in and placed a gentle kiss to her cheek. Facing the rest of the room, he blinked his eyes, tear filled. "Sorry fer bein' such an embarrassment."

The room remained silent as Aiden slowly shuffled out past them all on his way out. As soon as he disappeared from view, Kenny let out a long sigh and raked his fingers through his hair.

"Am so sorry fer tha'." He walked to Fiona's side and looked at the map. "He's right. It's a long drive ya have ahead o' ya. An' I'm guessin' what yar about ta do is dangerous, too dangerous fer an auld man. He sometimes forgets how auld he is. What I said was fer his own good, ya know thot, don'tcha?"

"He just wanted to help," Fiona replied in a small voice.

"We understand. Thanks for all the help, Kenny," Sam spoke over the top of Fiona's comment and shook the Irishman's hand. "C'mon, Fi, we have to go. We've gotta go get Mike."

"If we're not back by daylight, we won't be comin'." Jesse shook Kenny's hand and followed the other two to the pick-up.

Kenny followed them out and put a hand flat on the hood. "Am gonna go work on tha plane, come straight ta tha hangar. If I can't get ya out tonight, I'll try ta find somebody who can."

"We can't thank you enough for this, Kenny," Sam answered and then, with Jesse driving and Fiona navigating, they set off.

()()

Kenny watched his blue pick- up leave the drive and then turned back to his daughter, who stood quietly in the background watching.

"Sorcha, go find yar granddaddy. I wan' ya both ter stay wit' yar Tia Marisol 'til this business is done."

"Tia Marisol? Ya know how Grandda feels about Mammy's sister? He won't wan' ter go."

"He'll do as his tol', girl." Kenny replied gruffly.

He had had enough of his father reliving his youth. For the first time in a very long time, he had been given a clear reminder of what their life had once been like – and he didn't like it.

He stayed on the driveway with his arms crossed over his chest staring at the empty street. San Miguelito had been his home now for far more years than Belfast had been. Yet he still remembered living through The Troubles, still had the occasional nightmare about the bombings and the gun battles.

His dad only ever seemed to remember the excitement of running through the back streets and hiding from the patrols. The anticipation of waiting for the car bomb to go off, watching the end result of his day's work go up with a deafening roar and turn in to a giant blinding fireball.

"I cannae find him, daddy! I think he went off wit' his friends." Sorcha stood at the garage door her features registering her concern.

Letting loose with a stream of expletives, Kenny turned back to the house. He knew he shouldn't have trusted his old man. When had Aiden Sean Malloy ever turned away from a fight?

"Tha daft old bugger! Well, I cannae do anything about it now. Ya get over ta Tia Marisol's an' ya stay thar, girl, til I come get ya when this is all over and done with. I'm gonna get back ta work now."

()()

As the blue pick-up truck entered the district of La Gallineta, the occupants noted the lack of vehicles on the road or pedestrians on the pavements.

"Well, I think we're getting close," Sam commented, as he peered out of the side window.

"Pull place is just round the next corner," Fiona ordered, as she looked up from the street map.

The lack of locals in the area was worrying. It meant that Montoya was being brazen about his activities and the residents knew to stay out of his way.

Leaving the pick-up parked up in a gap between two apartment buildings, the trio cautiously moved forward, staying in the shadows until they spotted a line of four large black SUVs being guarded by a heavily armed two-man team dressed in black combat clothing and Kevlar vests.

"Card's team is already here," Fiona hissed. "We need to get Michael now!"

She went to move, but Sam stopped her and pointed up to the roof of a nearby building. "Look! Up there, on the roof."

Staring up, following the line of Sam's arm, Fiona and Jesse caught sight of the muzzle of a sniper rifle showing over the building ledge. A quick scan of other roof tops and Fiona spotted a second shape, which to an untrained eye would have passed unnoticed.

The trio paused, trying to come up with a plan which would not end with Michael in Card's hands and them dead in the middle of a South American city.

"We're not getting in the front. Let's take a look at the back," Jesse commented when they couldn't come up with a way of getting past the roof top guards.

As he lead them back the way they had come, Fiona noted his long fast strides and the new footwear. "Somebody had time to do some shoe shopping."

"They belong to Kenny and they're not as comfy as I make 'em look," Jesse answered, but then came to a sudden stop. "Shi – it,"

The back was only guarded by a single man, but there were no windows or doors. The only way in was going to be noisy, noisy enough that the men inside would have plenty of warning that a rescue was taking place.

Fiona fell back and leaned against a nearby wall. There was no way the three of them were going to be able to get Michael out in one piece. "We'll have to wait for them to move him."

Sam bit down on his bottom lip, hesitating before speaking knowing, Fiona wasn't going to like what he was about to say.

"Given that Card wants Mikey de-. I don't think they'll bring him out."

"Well we go in now," she stated, her expression set in stone as she checked the clip in her hand gun.

"A – huh, no way, lady," Sam growled. "No way are we making some suicide run. Let's go back to the truck and gear up and, while we're doin' that, we'll figure out a way to get inside." He cupped her shoulders and stared into her blue-green eyes. "We'll get him out, but we're going to be smart about it."

Slowly she relaxed and nodded. "O-kay, but you had better come up with a plan quickly."

Arriving at the pick-up, Jesse reached into the bed and then jumped back, his gun coming up as a shape appeared from amongst the bags.

"Sounds like ya could do wiv another man." Aiden Malloy grinned at them, and then climbed out over the side. "Sorry ta scare ya like thot, boy, but ya should really watch whar yar sticking yar hands."

"Jesus Christ! You can-not be here." Sam was beyond furious. "We have no time for this."

"Well, am here, an' fram what I heard, ya need me... So, don't ya be tryin' ta tell me any different."

Fiona stepped between them. "No! No, Sam, we can use him."

"Use him? You heard his son? The guy who is flying us out of the country doesn't want -"

"Ya getta a car, ya fill it wiv some o' this little girl's toys an' send it through tha' front door. Thot way, ya getta nice big bang an', wiv a bit a luck, most of tha bad guys out fer tha count."

They stared at the old man, each one running through the scenario Aiden had laid out. "This could work," Jesse spoke up eagerly. "We could take out the snipers while they're concentrating on the car."

"Yes, you and Sam could then keep all the attention on the front, while me and Aiden make a hole in the back wall," Fiona added with enthusiasm.

They all looked to Sam, waiting for his judgement and, as much as he would have liked to find something wrong with the plan, he couldn't. Letting out a deep breath, he sighed. "Let's go find a car to turn into a battering ram."

()()

When the car loaded with Fiona's home-made grenades and the one medium sized bomb she'd made with Aiden's assistance crashed into the doors of the abandoned factory, the resulting explosion made the ground shake and the walls begin to crumble. Half of Montoya's force was taken out, either killed or severely wounded in the blast and everybody else nearby was left dazed and in shock. It was then that shots started to hit the remaining walls and disused machinery, sending the men still standing searching for cover.

Within minutes of the assault beginning, another explosion came from the back of the factory and Fiona Glenanne and Aiden Malloy appeared through the thick cloud of smoke, their semi-automatic rifles crackling, as they drove back the few men who came in their direction.

()()

At the first loud BOOM, Tyler Grey and Michael Westen were thrown flat to the floor as lumps of crumbling rumble fell all about them. Lying helpless, trying to catch their breaths, they listened to the sounds of a full-scale military assault taking place outside their room, multiple cracks of gunfire mingling with the cries of the wounded and the pings of bullets ricocheting off abandoned machinery.

Both men struggled up on to their knees, shaking off the layer of dust which covered their backs and hair. Their hate-filled eyes locked on each other. Only the fact they couldn't use their hands was stopping them from killing each other.

Another explosion and part of the wall collapsed inwards, causing Michael to fall forward, giving Grey the time he needed to get to his feet.

"You're not getting outta here, Westen," the assassin growled as he delivered a swift kick to the fallen spy's head.

Watching with satisfaction as Michael groaned and a trickle of blood began to flow from his dust covered hairline, Tyler Grey brought his foot back to deliver another blow when a rifle stock hit him hard between the shoulder blades. As Grey dropped to his knees, a second blow caught him on the side of his head knocking him into an unconscious heap.

"Michael!" Fiona stepped over the body of Card's hired killer and dropped to the floor at her lover's side, pulling his head into her lap. "Michael? C'mon wake up." She delivered a hard slap to his cheek and, as soon as he groaned, she pushed him into a sitting position.

"C'mon, we've no time fer ya to sit around teking a break," she scolded as she worked on the handcuffs, using a hair clip to pick the lock.

As soon as she released his wrists, she dragged him roughly up on to his feet and wrapped her arms around his waist to steady him while her lips sought out his in a deep frantic kiss.

"Fi, Fiona." His words lost as he returned the kiss, his hands rising to tangle in her hair. Finally breaking free, he stared into her eyes. "I thought I'd never see you again."

The punch which landed on his jaw rocked his head to the side and nearly dropped him back to the floor. "Ya ever run off like that again and I swear I'll shoot ya me sel'."

Then before he could reply, she kissed him again.

"D'ya tink ya kin leave all them shenanigans til affer we get outta har?" Aiden Malloy peered into the room, a thin trickle of smoke trailing from the muzzle of his AK47.

The Irishman's words had broken the spell and suddenly they both realized where they were.

"He's right. We'll finish this later... C'mon."

Slipping her shoulder under Michael's arm, she tried to help him walk out of the room. But he pulled away and turned, still swaying, to look down on the crumpled figure of Tyler Grey.

"We need him. He's the only one -"

"We have to go now," Fiona answered and tried to pull him away.

"NO! Without him, I-"

"Children! We cannae be har." Aiden, fired off more rounds towards the besieged CIA and militia forces as he spoke.

"We have to bring him with us. He knows about your friends," Michael's voice cracked with desperation.

"Get yar man outta har. I'll see ta the other." Aiden finally entered the room and made to pull the hired killer up.

Satisfied that he was getting his own way, Michael relented and took the Glock 17 hand gun Fiona held out to him and followed her into the chaos which was taking place on the main factory floor.

Most of Montoya's men were down, close to where the burning remains of an ancient looking truck stood just inside the doors. The CIA tactical team had fared a little better, but were for the most part being kept pinned down by the two snipers firing on them from the rooftops outside.

Michael, still suffering from the effects of Montoya's torture and the kick to his head, looked around trying to take everything in. It was while he was looking, he saw Aiden setting light to a fuse attached to an old tin can.

"NO!" he yelled, realizing just too late what the old man was doing.

"Ya tink ya kin inform on my family, ya bastid," the old man growled, seconds before throwing himself forward as the room disintegrate into a pile of bricks and twisted metal.

"No – I – he was – he was -" Michael was so furious he couldn't get the words out.

Bullets started coming in their direction, cutting off the spy's words and, before he could argue further, Fiona and Aiden forced him towards the large hole in the back wall.

"What took so long?" Jesse shouted as he pulled to a stop next to them.

"Yar man dinnae want ta leave," Aiden called back as he helped Fiona get Michael into the cab.

()()

Jesse drove through the back streets, following Fiona's direction as she tried to navigate a way back to the Calle de Philippe airfield while avoiding the police and military patrols rushing to the scene of carnage they had left behind.

All the way, Michael sat in a stony silence, his arms folded over his chest staring straight ahead, his mouth a thin down turned line and his eyebrows fixed in a frown.

In the back of the pick-up Sam Axe could only wish for a bit of silence; as soon as the old man had settled in next to him, he hadn't shut up.

"Ha, jus' like tha auld days. We showed tham Brit bastids a thing or two. Wha' d'ya say, boyo? We got 'em good this time, aye? We gotta em good."

After the first five minutes, Sam handed Aiden the Mossberg shotgun and pointed to the road behind them. "Why don't you keep watch?"

"Good thinkin' boy. Them sneaky SAS buggers could be anywhere."

Wiping a hand over his face, Sam took up position to watch the rear and to make sure the old man didn't start taking pot shots at the locals.

With what had just occurred, Sam was silently praying that Kenny Malloy had his plane ready on the tarmac, because he was pretty sure they were going to have the remains of the Panamanian Militia and Tom Cards tactical team hard on their heels.

Feeling the truck slow, he risked a look into the cab noticing for the first time the rigid posture of his best friend's back. Right then he realized he wasn't sure which was was more dangerous: what was coming up behind them, or the man sitting up front in between Jesse and Fiona.

()()()


	5. A Brief Interlude

A Brief Interlude. 

Jesse let out a sigh of relief as he drove through the unmanned gate of the airfield. Heading straight into Kenny Malloy's hangar he brought the pick-up to a halt and killed the engine. The journey back had been uncomfortable in the extreme.

Dodging militia patrols while driving along unlit narrow streets in a car loaded down with weapons had been a piece of cake compared with dealing with the ice cold, barely contained fury of Michael Westen. The man had spent the entire journey staring straight ahead with his arms folded over his chest. Each time Jesse had to apply the brakes or take a corner, he found himself tensing as he waited for Westen to explode. He was just grateful that Fiona had been between himself and that ticking time bomb.

"Okay, people we're here," he spoke with false joviality. "Let's get outta here and back to Miami." Opening the door, he jumped out taking a breath of cool twilight air. It was then he saw the tools spread out on the ramp and, nearby on a wooden work bench, a burnt out motor.

"Oh, man," he groaned. Glancing back to the pick-up, he wondered if he should be looking for a suitable spot to take cover before Michael found out the plane wasn't flight-worthy.

"How's Mikey?" The truck bed creaked as Sam climbed out and then helped Aiden back to solid ground.

"Hard to tell. In between the loaded silence and death glares, I'd say he's somewhere between pissed and furious. What happened back there?"

Sam sent a look to where Fiona was trying to coax the ex-spy out of his hissy fit. "From what I got off Fiona's psycho leprechaun, Tyler Grey got himself blown up."

Jesse's mouth made a perfect "O." That certainly explained Michael's mood.

"Yeah, Card's hired gun made the mistake of threatening the ol' guy's family." Sam added.

Before they could discuss the matter further, Kenny Malloy appeared from a small room at the back of the hangar.

"Da! Dad, what tha hell war ya tinking, goin' off like thot?" His face flushed with anger as he reached the old man's side and, after giving the two men a brief nod in way of a greeting, he began to pull his father towards the kitchen area.

"Ha! Ya shoulda seen us, boy. We got em good – an' sent them – tha' war still alive – scattered – ta the – wind." Aiden was giddy with delight, his speech punctuated by deep rasping breaths, like an overexcited child trying to talk and breathe at the same time.

"Go set down fer a while. I tol' ya 'til am sick ter me back teeth, ya too ol' fer all this runnin' around."

"Ach, ya sound jus' like ya mudder God rest har soul... Cassie never understood me work." Aiden slumped down on the worn out couch Kenny used when he worked all night. "But at least she always supported me efforts."

"Support ya? Ya jus' admitted ta blowing up tha local Militia! Am gonna make a call an' get Marisol ta come pick ya up and take ya back ta her place."

()()

Meanwhile, as Mr. Malloy was trying to get his father to agree to stay at a relative's house, Ms. Glenanne was trying to coax her fuming boyfriend out of the truck.

"I know you're angry," Fiona began slowly. "But you said it yourself, Grey was a threat to Aiden's family."

Michael remained motionless except for the slight narrowing of his eyes as he stared out through the windshield of the pick-up truck, his gaze fixed firmly on the back wall of Kenny Malloy's aircraft hangar.

"Aiden did what he had to do to protect his son and granddaughter." She tentatively skimmed her fingertips over his bicep following the outline of the rock hard, bunched up muscle lying under smooth tanned skin.

Sighing, Fiona waited for Michael to respond. Ever since the death of Tyler Grey, he had been sulking. Her fingers twitched at his refusal to speak or even acknowledge her presence. He was acting like a spoilt child and the urge to slap some sense into him was becoming harder to resist by the minute. She made one more attempt to get through to him.

"Without his help, we would have never got you out. Card's lackeys would have killed you and Grey would have told them where to find the rest of us. Is that what you wanted?"

She watched his jaw tighten as he ground his teeth together and then jumped as, without a word, he slid away from her to climb out of the cab. She jumped again as he viciously slammed the door closed behind him. Now he was going too far! She would not be ignored. Her temper flared and she gave chase.

Exiting Kenny Malloy's pick-up truck, she walked around to where Michael stood next to the tailgate facing Jesse and Sam.

"When are we getting back to Miami?" She heard him snap. At least he hadn't completely lost the power of speech, she thought.

"Er, well, Kenny has been working on the ramp, but it's not -" Sam answered, studiously avoiding making eye contact with his best friend. From past experience the ex-SEAL knew when the former spy lost control like this, the safest thing to do was to keep out of his way or failing that, you kept your head down and hoped he left at least a few buildings standing.

"So, we're not getting' out of here any time soon." Michael fumed, turning away to glare at the broken plane.

"He's making a coupla of calls," Jesse added. "He's got a friend who knows a guy who knows a guy who runs guns into the US and he might be able to give us ride."

"Gr-reat." Sarcasm dripped from the ungrateful spy's tongue. "So, we have no way out, our only source of information on what Card is up to is buried under a pile of rubble and the longer we're delayed, the more time the bastard has to prepare."

"Michael," Fiona called out, "Come with me. I want to check that broken rib and any other injuries you've picked up." Standing with her hands on her hips, she dared him to ignore her a second time.

"I'm fi-"

"Now, Michael." Her eyes flashed; she had reached the end of her patience.

For the first time since his rescue, Michael looked fully at his girlfriend and his expression changed from suppressed rage to one of resignation. He might not want talk, but it was very clear that she did.

"Fine." That single word came out as a snarl as he turned back to face Sam and said, "Push Kenny into hurrying up on finding us a ride." He threw an ice cold stare over to where Aiden Malloy sat reliving the events of his action packed evening. "And disarm that old b – timer."

"Michael!" Fiona snapped.

With a frustrated growl, he marched after her as she made her way across to the other side of hangar and into Kenny's workshop.

Sam and Jesse watched the couple disappear from view and visibly relaxed. If anybody was capable of bringing Michael back under control, it was Fiona Glenanne.

"Do you think it's wise, lettin' them go off like that?" Jesse asked as the door closed quietly behind the couple.

Sam smirked. "It'll be okay. She won't hurt him too badly and, with a bit of luck, he'll come out with his head screwed on straight."

"Seriously?" Jesse raised an eyebrow.

"Mike just needs to blow off some steam. He'll shout and rage at her and then she'll punch his lights out. But, in the end, he'll come around."

"I hope so... Cuz what's going on – it's way over my head."

"Mine too, buddy. Now let's go get that shotgun away from the bomb happy leprechaun."

()()

Fiona switched on the overhead light and closed the door before making her way slowly over to where Michael stood waiting for her with his back against a cluttered wooden workbench.

Without uttering a word, she pushed him down to sit on an old hard wooden chair before roughly pulling and tugging at his t- shirt until it came over his head. Ignoring his sudden intake of breath, she bent over and set about examining the discolored, black and blue skin covering his torso. Only when she was satisfied that the broken rib hadn't caused more damage did she move on to examine the burn marks scattered over his flesh from the touch of Montoya's cattle prod.

"Grey was with you when you told Sam and Jesse how to find me," she spoke softly as she continued to let her fingers walk across his skin searching for fresh bruises, torn muscles or broken bones . "He would have led Card's men straight here and we would have all been dead... Was Grey's life worth more to you than ours?"

"No, of course not... I could have – Ow!" She stopped his excuses by aggressively probing at the cut caused by Tyler Grey's boot connecting with his head.

"What? What could you have done? If you had managed to get him back to Miami, who would you have handed him over to? The FBI? You know damn well he would have been handed straight back to Card. Besides, it wasn't that long ago you wanted to kill him yourself. I mean, that's what we came down here for, wasn't it? To get the man who murdered Nate."

"Things are different now. I didn't know my old instructor was the one setting us up. I realized that he was more use to us alive. He worked for Card; he might have known what he was planning."

"Even if having him around got one or all of us killed? He nearly got you killed and he would have told Card's team where to find us. You should have put a bullet in his head when you took him down."

Her words stunned him. Getting to his feet, he brushed her hands away from his head wound and turned his back on her.

Was he doing it again? Putting his objectives ahead of the people around him? He had sworn after Nate, after what had happened to Nate, he would be more careful.

The image of his little brother's broken and blood stained body lying on the pavement filled his mind and brought tears to his eyes. Sniffing, he angrily swiped away the evidence of his weakness.

What was wrong with him? What made him willing to risk his friends' lives without a thought of the consequences? But seemed he just couldn't stop doing it. He was so focused on the end result, he forgot about all the collateral damage that occurred in his wake. His mother was right. He was too dangerous to be around.

"Michael."

This time when she spoke his name, her voice was softer, a tenderness creeping into her tone.

When he refused to look at her, she snaked her arm over his shoulder to catch hold of his chin and force him to turn around and face her.

"Michael, it was the right thing to do. Grey would have caused nothing but trouble all the way home. What Aiden did was the only safe thing to do."

Swallowing thickly, he nodded. In his mind, he could hear his mother's last words to him..... "I should have protected him, from you."

She hated him, and rightly so. They would all be better off without him.

Just like Nate had no business being involved in a CIA operation, none of them- Fiona, Sam or Jesse- had any business being in Panama with him now and, just like with Nate, there was nobody out there to protect them from his actions.

"Fi," he sighed, dipping his head so he could rest his forehead against hers. Closing his eyes, he tried to imagine how he was going to cope when he left her behind. Just thinking about what he was going to do was breaking his heart. The pain of all those months they were apart while she was in prison was still fresh in his mind.

But there was no other way. When he killed Tom Card, and he was going to kill his old mentor, it was going to bring a world of pain down on everybody connected to him. He would be hunted down by his own government and there would be nowhere left for him to hide.

He knew if he told her what he planned to do, she would insist on staying at his side until the bitter end. But he couldn't let that happen to her. He would not let another loved one get hurt because of him. So, to keep her safe, he was going to have to abandon her; he saw that now.

A shiver went down his spine and he dipped his head lower to bury his face in her hair. Holding her in a tight embrace, he breathed in her scent, committing the moment to his memory........ It was going to be just like Dublin all over again.

"Hey, hey." She tried to get him to lift his head, to look her in the eye. She ran her fingers carefully through his hair, trying to avoid all the bumps and cuts. "Don't do this to yourself." She sounded scared. "Whatever it is, we -"

It was her turn to have her words cut off as he pulled back to stare into her eyes. Gently, he smoothed back the stray tendrils of hair framing her face.

Fi," he breathed her name before leaning in and kissing her, a deep kiss full of passion and need. His hands cupped her cheeks, holding her as his lips hungrily devoured hers as he sought to show her how much she meant to him.

She pulled away, surprised at this sudden burst of out of character behavior. Staring into his eyes, she saw desperation and something else, something a little scary etched into his expression.

"Michael?"

Slowly he sank down onto the chair, making room for her to stand between his legs. Without speaking a word, he wrapped his arms about her hips drawing her in close so he could rest his head against her stomach. Closing his eyes, he relaxed into her, rubbing his stubble covered cheek on her jeans.

She knew he was under an inordinate amount of stress. He had been on edge ever since Anson   
Fullerton had appeared on the scene, using her as leverage against him until she had put an end to it. What should have been a celebration of her freedom had turned tragic. Now, with his brother dead and the man who had been like a father to him trying to kill him, she didn't know how much more he could take.

Combing her fingers through his hair, she waited for him to make the next move.

Swallowing thickly, he hesitantly began to speak. "My mom – before we left... Before we left, I went to the house – she said, she should have protected Nate, from me. That I -" His faltering voice trailed off. He didn't want to break down in front of her. He prided himself on his ability to keep his feelings of hurt and abandonment locked away.

"Your mother is still grieving. She doesn't know you, not the real you."

He snuggled against her, letting her words soothe him, as his hands sought out the warm skin under her top.

He could feel the heat of her body and, as he rubbed against her, he felt the tightening of her stomach muscles. It was all so familiar; he wished they could stay like this forever.

But that would never happen.

Regardless of what she said, he knew his mom was right. He was too dangerous to be around. Something he had done all those years ago had brought him to the attention of Management and that had later gotten his father killed. He had sent Nate out against Anson and gotten him killed. He had dragged every person he cared about into his mess without a single thought for their safety.

He looked up, staring at the worried expression marring the features of the woman he loved. This was probably the only alone time they were going to get before he left. He glanced towards the door. They were out of sight and sound of the people in the hangar. He trusted that neither Sam nor Jesse would come in to disturb them unless Card's team was actually breaking down the doors to the hangar.

He needed this. He needed this one last time before –.

Letting out a soft moan, his hands slid further under her top, stroking the warm soft skin of her back. As her top was rolled up, his lips ghosted over her exposed torso. Rising slowly, he began placing feather light kisses from her belly button upwards until his nose nuzzled the edge of her bra as he lifted her T-shirt over her head.

"Michael?" Wide eyed, she pulled him away from his caressing her body. "I -"

He cut her off, his teeth nipping at her through the soft lace of her bra, grazing her nipple.

"Michael," she gasped pushing him back again to find herself staring into his lust filled blue eyes. "Sam – Jesse, they're -" Her mind was a whirl at his sudden lack of tactical awareness.

"Shhh. Please, I need this. I need you," he whispered, his voice husky with passion. This was more like Dublin that he cared to admit. Only this time it was his decision. This time, he wouldn't leave her to deal with all the fall out from his actions. This time he would make sure she was out of danger first and had no way to come after him.

He took hold of her wrist. Lowering himself back into the chair and with a gentle tug, he encouraged her to sit astride his lap.

"We both need to decompress." He nibbled on her ear, distracting her while his fingers worked on her bra. "Nobody will come in," he added as he slid the straps down her arms. He sent to the floor along with her top.

Drawing her closer, he ran his tongue lightly over her lips before he gently probed against her teeth. She willingly parted them and, as their tongues met, he felt a heated rush of love for this woman who had given him everything.

Closing his eyes, he allowed himself to live just for this moment, no longer caring about the outside world. They broke apart, only to kiss again, his fingers tangling in her hair and massaging her scalp while she dragged her nails over his bare back, no longer caring about the cuts and scrapes that covered his body.

Slowly his mouth worked its way from her lips, to her chin and on to her throat, peppering her skin with gossamer like kisses and nips. As she sighed and arched her back, his lips travelled across her clavicle to her breasts.

Teasing one nipple with his tongue, he used a finger and thumb to pinch and tug on the other. The feel of her writhing on his lap pressing against his rapidly hardening length was fast pushing him towards the edge.

What they were doing was wrong on so many levels, but he couldn't stop it. She flung her head forward, burying herself into his neck, her teeth biting down on his shoulder in an effort to quell the moans of rapture that were building up and demanding release.

"Fi, Fiona." He drew her head back, stroking her brow and then her cheek. "We need, I -"

Gasping, she nodded and shifted on his lap, undoing his pants and pushing them down low enough to free him from their confines. As she worked on him, so his fingers did the same for her, making her stand to let the barrier to their pleasure fall away.

When she next climbed onto his lap, it was slowly and they clung to each other as she surrounded him, sheathing him in the most intimate of embraces.

All the stress and tension fell away as they lost themselves in each other's arms. As they moved in time with each other, their tongues took up the dance in a kiss that expressed their love far better than any words.

()()

Back in the hangar, Sam was checking and reloading all of the weaponry, trying to keep his mind focused on the task at hand rather than on how much time they had before any one of the groups hunting them down discovered their hiding place.

He was also fighting the urge to borrow Kenny Malloy's phone and put a call through to Elsa. So far he had only missed one check in with the little lady. But after the heartfelt message he had left on her voice mail the last time a mission had gone sideways, he knew she would be worrying. He also had a nagging fear that Tom Card might be looking to round up some leverage to make them come in. Elsa and Madeline sprang instantly to mind. If Card took either one into custody – he shook his head thinking like that wouldn't help anyone.

With the last gun reloaded and nothing left to distract him, Sam turned his attention to where Jesse was working on the wrecked motor which controlled the cargo plane's lifting mechanism.

"How's it goin'?" He walked over, noting the frustrated look on the younger man's face.

"Damn thing is seized up tighter than Mike. This bird isn't gonna fly without some major work on the motor." He wiped the grease off his hands and wearily arched his back, stretching his aching muscles and nodding over to where the plane's owner was walking in their direction. "Hey, it looks like he might have some news for us."

Kenny Malloy dropped his cell phone into his overall pocket and went over to where two of Fiona's friends stood at the work bench.

"Where's Fiona?" he asked, turning his head as he searched the large open space.

"She's with Mikey, trying to talk him down," Sam answered easily.

"I need ta speak wid -" Seeing no sign of the elusive Ms Glenanne, his eyes settled on the closed door to his workshop.

"Oh, whoa there!" Sam blocked the Irishman. "Mike is pretty riled up, ya know, with your dad blowing up his prisoner. Him and Fiona are better off being left alone for now until he's calmed down."

"I wondered wha' had me ole man blatherin' on about Casey O'Dell," Kenny replied and then went on to explain. "O'Dell wa' an informer, me Da' killed ham back in '78. Blew tha bugger up wiv a car bomb. Is that wha' he's done? Blown some poor sod up?"

"Yeah, don't worry about it too much. The guy killed Mike's brother, but he could have given us some valuable intel on how to get to his boss."

The Irishman took a deep breath and let it go. "Me Da', he gets confused. He wouldnae done it otherwise. I tried ter make ham stay here, wid me. Ya saw that, didn't ya?"

"It's okay, Kenny. The guy deserved all he got. Mike'll get over it... So, what do you need Fiona for?"

"I've got ya a ride outta here... It's not tha fella I said about. It's, well, she's a friend." The Irishman blushed. "She normally flies illegals, drops 'em inta tha Everglades. She's willing ta take ya – fer a price."

"We don't have any cash on us, Kenny," Sam answered.

"She don' want money. She wants ya ter get har plane off har ex partner. Tha's why I wanted ter talk to Fiona."

"Oh, so, now we've gotta steal a plane?" Jesse lifted his hands, linking his fingers behind his neck. "How do we do that?"

"She'll be har in an hour or so ta tell yer all about it," Kenny answered. He looked over to where his father sat talking to himself. The rescue had certainly fired up the old man; he was going to be impossible to live with now.

"Shouldn't ya be getting Fiona now?"

"No, they'll be out when they're ready," Sam answered calmly.

There was no nothing on earth, short of Card's people launching a full scale assault, that would make him interrupt what was going on in that small room.


	6. A Sacrifice

Agent Jeff Reid held his radio loosely in his hand, waiting for his call to be put through to the chief of operations Tom Card. Three hours had passed since Michael Westen had escaped and the simple exchange of a large amount of cash for two rogue agents had been turned into one colossal pig screw.

It had taken three hours to clean up the mess left by Westen's team of mercenaries. Montoya, the head honcho of the militia group, was dead along with half his men. The two CIA snipers who had been taken down by Westen's rescuers had concussions and, in one case, a broken jaw. Four other members of his team had injuries from ricocheting bullets or from being caught in one of several bomb blasts and two more had been killed.

Leaving the militia to deal with their own people, Reid had made sure his injured were treated and the dead were bagged and tagged to be returned home. Those in one piece had then set about collecting bullet casings and any remnants of the explosive devices that had been used. Only now that the scene was sanitized did he risk giving his boss the bad news.

"I hope you're calling me with some good news." Reid snapped to attention at the sound of his boss's voice.

Licking his lips, he delivered the only piece of good news first. "Grey has been eliminated."

"And?"

"Sorry, sir, Westen got away. There was a rescue. I've lost two of my team and have six wounded and the head of the local Militia is dead, along with half his force." He kept the bad news brief, knowing Card didn't want to hear excuses.

Reid waited, listening to Card breathing deeply into the phone. He could imagine the man's look of fury. Tom Card hated excuses, but he hated failure even more.

"I was hoping for a bit more good news, Reid. All you had to do was hand over a case full of cash. What went wrong?"

"There must have been a leak from the militia group... Somebody told -"

"Ya don't say, wow."

Reid swallowed thickly and looked up at the star filled sky.

"Okay, kid, this is what I want you to do. Find out who passed on the intel to Westen's team and then get them to show you where they are... Am I goin' too fast for you here?"

"No, Sir."

"Good. Now the next time you report in, it better be to tell me you have Westen and his little band of miscreants either in shackles or in body bags."

()()

With all their pieces of clothing back in place, their hair smoothed down and their breathing returned to normal, Michael and Fiona faced each other and smiled. Michael slowly raised a hand to gently move a few stray strands of hair off her face. All signs of the previous tension and simmering anger was gone, at least for the moment.

"We're not the enemy, Michael. We're your friends; we all want the same thing." She gave him one more reminder that he wasn't on his own, that he had a team he could trust and rely on.

Leaning in, he rested his forehead against hers. "I know, I know, I'm sorry." Closing his eyes, he let his hands drop onto her hips. If they could just stay like this, just the two of them, together.

Sighing, he suddenly straightened up. But that wasn't possible. Tyler Grey was dead, but he had just been the gun, a finger on the trigger. Tom Card was the man who ordered the kill shot that took down Anson Fullerton – and Nate. So until Card paid for what he had done, they had to keep going. He had to keep going.

"Hey?" Fiona read his troubled expression. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," he smiled. "Come on. Let's find out if they've found us a way home yet." He led the way to the door.

Stepping back into the hangar, they walked slowly over to where Jesse, Sam and Kenny stood talking.

"Hey, Mikey," Sam called out as soon as he spotted them. "Kenny here has found a friend who might be able to give us a ride back home. They'll be here soon to explain the details."

"Details?" the spy queried. As he looked around the hangar, he noticed that Kenny's pick-up was missing. "Where's the truck?"

"I sent me Da home. He needed a proper rest, an' besides I don't wan' ham interfering in wha's being planned," Kenny answered.

"Sam?" Michael was more concerned about getting the answer to his first question.

"Ah, well, their friend's plane isn't exactly here. We've gotta help her steal it back off her ex-boyfriend."

"Steal a plane? Like we've not done that before," Fiona grinned happily while Michael just glared.

"It's the best offer we've got," Sam answered the unspoken accusation.

"Hey, it looks like she's here." Jesse pointed to the approaching twin lights following the dimly lit road to the Malloy hangar.

Before any of them could speak, Kenny stepped forward, reaching the car as it came to a stop just inside the doors. Grabbing hold of the door, he held it open for the woman inside while she climbed out.

"Fellas, this is me friend, Inez Valdes."

"Hola," she smiled before placing a tender kiss to the now blushing Irishman's cheek.

Inez was about five feet four, dressed in jeans and a tight t shirt that showed off her shapely figure. In her late thirties or maybe early forties, her short cropped black hair was free of any grey and, behind a set of rimless glasses, her dark brown eyes regarded the men and woman who were supposedly going to help get her plane back.

"These are tha folks I tol' yer about: Sam…Jesse… Mike and Fiona," Kenny gestured to each of them in turn.

Inez finished her study of the group before turning back to Kenny. "Guerrero has my plane on a runway cut into jungle in the Camino de Cruces national park. He must have twenty or more men with him, guarding the warehouse. How can these -"

"Er, hello! Hi, there..." Jesse held up a hand. "As the folks that are going to be stealing this plane, how 'bout giving us a little more low down here? Twenty guards?" He hadn't been keen on the plan in the first place and now that they could be facing twenty armed guards, he liked it even less.

"Yes, yes, sorry," Kenny mumbled apologetically. Turning to Inez, he gave her a reassuring smile. "I told you they took on Montoya's militia. Honestly, I'm sure they can help."

"Well, if you say so." She faced the group, concentrating her gaze on Jesse, as he had been the only one to speak to her. "I had a boyfriend, Enrique. We were helping people to get into the US for the last two years. Then six months ago, a man, Salvador Guerrero, comes and offers to pay us three times what we have been making if we run his drugs instead of people. I turn him down, but the next day I wake up and Enrique and the plane are gone.

"Guerrero? Where do I know that name from?" Jesse asked.

"The Cartel's man in Panama," Michael supplied the answer in a cold flat tone.

"I helped her to track the plane down." Kenny interrupted. "It's being kept next to a warehouse out in Camino del Cruces national park. They've made their own compound and runway in the middle of the jungle. We thought about sneaking inside, but there are too many armed guards for us just to go in there and fly it out by ourselves."

"So, is your plane really broke or is this just a way to get us to help your friend?" Michael asked bluntly, his eyes narrowed and fixed on Kenny.

"No! Hell, no!" The Irishman erupted, standing almost nose to nose with Michael, his large hands bunching into fists. "Ya think I'd do sommit like tha'? Ya kin see tha state o' tha motor. Yar own man took a look at it."

Sam pushed his way between the two men, using the flats of his hands to separate them. "Hey, easy. Mikey didn't mean anything, did ya, Mike?"

When Michael didn't answer, Sam sent Fiona a silent plea for help. But instead of rushing to his aid to stop a fight which would kill any chance of them getting home, she just stood with her arms folded and a grin on her face.

Luckily, Inez Valdes had more heart and definitely more sense.

"When Kenny called me, he asked if I knew anybody who could help." She spoke directly to Michael. "It was my suggestion. He said you had just taken on the militia and needed to get out of Panama quickly. I thought somebody who could do that would be able to get me my plane back."

Everybody breathed easier when Michael relaxed and stepped back. He pursed his lips and took a moment to think about his words. "Sorry for that," he apologized.

"Okay, then, we're good?" Sam asked looking at Michael who nodded and then at Kenny.

"Aye," he growled. "Ferget about it."

"I brought a map of the area." Inez took a step away, leaned into her car and came out holding an ordinance survey map. "I'll show you where they're holed up with my plane." She laid the map out on the hood of her car and began to show the team the size of the task set before them.

()()

The newly promoted Major Rico Geraldo stared long and hard at the CIA man standing before him. His predecessor, Montoya, had made a deal with this man, a very profitable deal for all concerned. But now was the time to make a new arrangement, a chance for him to show the remaining members of his group that he was a good choice as commander.

A quarter of a million US dollars for the heads of Michael Westen and the three people helping him was a good deal. It was the same offer as Montoya had agreed to and, as there were less of them to share the cash, now it was tempting.

"I have many dead. My men are not so eager to fight against such a formidable enemy. We would have to hunt them down. It would take much time," he explained the difficulties, seeming reluctant to take part in a man hunt.

The American smiled at him, all teeth but the eyes remained cold and detached. "So what can I do to help convince your men to help?"

"I want another hundred thousand and for that I guarantee my men will find Westen by daylight, Geraldo answered.

He watched as Agent Reid appeared to think the offer over. The extra money was for himself. He would let his men share out the rest between themselves. It would make him appear to be a generous leader. It would buy him the loyalty to hold on to his position.

"It's a deal, but you only have a few hours to make good. Westen is looking for a way out of the country," Reid finally answered. "And once he is gone, so is your money."

Geraldo smiled and his eyes glinted. He knew something the gringo didn't and that piece of information was going to make him rich and solidify his position of power. He shook the American's hand before imparting the information he was holding.

"I have two pieces of intelligence. First, two of my men are unaccounted for – they were on patrol at the Calle del Phillipe airfield. Second, the vehicle used by Westen belongs to a man whose son rents a hangar at that airfield. They are extranjeros – foreigners, from Ireland, I believe."

"Irish? Westen, and more particularly his girlfriend, have strong connections to Ireland." Reid offered his own shark like smile. "Lead the way, Major Geraldo."

()()

Jesse Porter sat behind the wheel of Inez Valdes', Nissan Sentra and, as he drove out of the city and onto the narrow roads leading into the rainforest, he thanked his lucky stars that he was well over six feet tall and of a muscular build. It was precisely because of his dimensions that he had got the job of driving the little car.

As soon as they had filled the trunk of the car with their supply of weapons, it had become apparent that the Sentra was not built to carry five adults. Fiona had been all for them stealing another, more suitable car, but Inez had refused to be involved in taking somebody else's only form of transport. So it had ended up with him behind the wheel, Sam at his side and Michael, Fiona and Inez wedged tightly into the backseat.

The journey out to Salvador Guerrero's secret landing strip took three hours, three long uncomfortable hours. Even in the cool of pre-dawn, the car got hot and stifling and, as they got further from the city and on to narrower and narrower roads, the Sentra's overloaded suspension let them feel every single pot hole and rock in their path.

Finally, Inez touched a hand to his shoulder and announced they were less than a mile away from their destination and they should stop. With a sigh of relief, Jesse peeled himself out of the car and stood aside as the three in the back nearly fell out in their eagerness to escape the hell they had put themselves through.

"I know exactly how a sardine feels now," Fiona grumbled.

Sam arched and then stretched his back, the audible sounds of his spine popping back into place had them all sending him a look of concern.

"So what's the plan here?" he asked when he noticed the looks coming his way.

"Reconnaissance," Michael replied from where he stood next to the open trunk.

He handed binoculars to Fiona and Sam and kept a set for himself. "Jesse, you and Fiona take the east side. Sam you go with Inez and check out the west and I'll head north. We'll meet back here in half an hour. We're looking for a way to sneak inside, preferably without a fire fight."

()()

After a pushing their way through the jungle, Fiona and Jesse eventually came across the first signs of Guerrero's compound, a ten foot high steel chain link fence, topped with rolls of razor wire. Climbing up a tree, they settled down side by side peering out through the foliage.

"Well we're not getting in there without mounting a full-scale assault." Fiona studied Guerrero's compound through the binoculars. "There's what twelve, fifteen armed guards watching the place. What do you think they've got in there?"

"Cocaine. Lots and lots of cocaine," Jesse answered. "C'mon, there's no way we're gettin' in on this side without starting a war. We should go see if Mike and the others have found a way inside."

When they got back to the car, the others were already there and, from the grim expressions on their faces, it was obvious they had had no luck either.

"To the north, they have guys up in a watchtower. I think they're mostly there to keep watch on the main road. But once we breach, if we get spotted, they'll be able to take us out with their rifles." Michael tried to hide his frustration at the delay.

"There are the two man teams patrolling the perimeter, not to mention the ones round the outside of the warehouse and around the plane," Sam added.

"So we're not getting' in quietly." Michael paced near the back of the car, his arms crossed over his chest and his head bowed as he tried to come up with a plan.

"I packed a few of those grenades I made with Aiden," Fiona remarked casually. "What if we set them off on the opposite side of the compound to where the plane is sitting? We can make them think hell is raining down on them and then sneak in while they're busy trying to fend off an attack."

Before anybody could comment, Sam turned on Fiona, his face suffused with anger. "You put those things in the trunk? Dammit, Fi, you could have blown us all to pieces!"

"Fi?" Michael asked, not clear on what grenades she was talking about or why Sam had such a strong reaction.

"Oh, you didn't know? She's been making grenades with that ancient, trigger happy, deluded Leprechaun, Aiden Malloy."

"How many have you got?" Michael asked, ignoring Sam's outburst. Now he had an answer.

"Hey, dangerous unstable explosives in the trunk of our car, as in Tinkerbell coulda blown our asses off!" Sam was not going to be ignored.

"But she didn't and we can use them to even the odds," Michael answered calmly. He had complete faith in Fiona's explosive skills. "The plane is parked up on the east side of the compound. If we set off those grenades on the west side, it should get everybody looking the wrong way while you sneak on board." He glanced at Inez. "Sam and Jesse can give us covering fire and we can board when you taxi over to the runway."

Everybody seemed happy with the plan, everybody but Jesse, who picked up one of the grenades. 

"It's a good plan, Mike. It just needs one little change."

Michael raised an eyebrow and glared at the younger man.

"I'm gonna be the one who goes with Fi. You think you're hiding it, but you've got a busted rib, remember? And all those little souvenirs you got from el Hefe's cattle prod? You are not up for playing quarterback, man, and you definitely ain't jumping onto a plane that's on the move."

"Jesse, you've never worked with these things. If you get the timing wrong, if -"

"I'm a quick study. Fi can brief me on the way." He took a quick look at his watch. "Now, if we're doin' this before full light, we need to get a move on, people."

"He's right, brother," Sam put in softly. "You'll be a bigger help getting us inside the compound than out there."

"Okay, fine. Let's go." He knew it was pointless to argue further when they ganged up on him like that.

Fiona picked up the bag holding her explosives and she and Jesse took off through the jungle to the west side of the compound. Hiding in the trees and long grass, Fiona talked Jesse through the procedure with the grenades.

"Light tha rag and then throw it as far as ya can away fram yersel'. Ya should have five seconds 'til it goes boom, but some o them don't give ya anywhere near that. So just beware. Light an' throw."

The rest of the team had barely enough time to get into position when the first of the explosives went off, a loud boom sending up a cloud of dirt and shredded bits of plant. The reaction was instantaneous as guards came streaming across the compound heading towards the sound of the explosions.

By the fourth boom, Michael had cut a hole in the fence and they were all inside, running across the open ground towards the plane. As they neared their target, a guard stepped out from behind a stack of wooden pallets. Even as his hand reached for his radio, he was borne to the ground by Michael Westen.

As soon as he spotted the guard, Michael had changed direction and increased his speed to a sprint. Hitting the guard with his body weight, they both ended up on the ground, the guard choking with Michael's hands wrapped around his throat.

With Sam Axe hard on her heels, Inez ran up the steps and onto the plane. Taking her seat, she began to quickly run through all the checks before starting up the twin engines.

The roar of the aircraft's engines finally drew Guerreros' guard attention, and all the fire power, which had been outside, was now coming at them. Inez slowly manoeuvred the plane onto the runway while Michael and Sam fired back at the guards.

"Your friends are coming!" Inez shouted, her voice sounded higher pitched than normal.

"Get lined up for take-off." Michael shouted back. "As soon as they're aboard, go!"

More shots came their way, several ricocheting around the inside of the fuselage. Reaching his hand out, Sam helped Fiona and then Jesse onto the aircraft while Michael kept up a constant stream of covering fire.

"GO! Get moving!" Sam yelled out to Inez.

The woman needed no more encouragement. The engines roared and the plane started along the runway, building up speed, and suddenly they were airborne.

As Inez began the flight north towards the Atlantic and onto the US, the others all sank back onto the floor, breathing a sigh of relief they could finally rest. For the next few hours, there was nothing for them to do. They could relax and make their plans for getting back to Miami.

The euphoria lasted for all of ten minutes.

"Hey, guys, we have a problem," Inez called out.

()()

Kenny Malloy had waited until they had driven off and had then started to pack everything away. There was no way he was going to get any sleep until he got word they were safe. It wasn't that he was bothered about Michael or Fiona or any of the other members of their team. It was Inez. He had known her for years and had for sometime admired her from a far.

He had taught Inez to fly during his short stint as a flight instructor when they had lived closer to Panama City. But, at the time, she had been barely twenty years old, spending some of her inheritance after her parents' deaths and he had been married with a heavily pregnant wife. Over the years, they had remained friends, but nothing more. He was after all nearly twice her age.

But recently that friendship had changed. His wife had been dead for nearly five years. Sorcha was growing up and would soon be leaving home and he was lonely. Inez, on the other hand, had just been dumped by her long-time boyfriend and lost her only form of income. Over a late night drink, both of them wallowing in their loneliness, that friendship had changed to something more.

He was worried for her safety, worried now that she was no longer dependent on him, she wouldn't want him anymore. Worried that she did want him, as much as he wanted her, and that he would have to tell Sorcha and his dad that they were relocating.

They had spoken about it already, made plans. How if she ever managed to steal her plane back, they would have to go on the run from the cartel. The plan was to relocate to Florida. She knew people who made I.D's. They would sell both planes and set up a new business and life together.

With the tools cleared away, he went over to the radio and checked his watch. It was too soon. They wouldn't be at Guerrero's compound yet. Frustrated, he turned away. Going home wasn't an option. He wouldn't be able to sleep and his pacing would wake the old man. Then he would be stuck dealing with Aiden and his tales of the old country and his whining about being left out of some action.

Eventually he settled down on the old couch and, at some point he must have closed his eyes, for the next thing he knew, there was a rifle muzzle digging into his throat.

"Hola, Senor Malloy." Rico Geraldo smiled evilly over the barrel off his gun.

"Geraldo?" Kenny croaked and then coughed as the muzzle dug in deeper.

"Major Geraldo, peon." Stepping back when he was satisfied he had made his point, Geraldo pointed across to where his men were dragging more prisoners inside. "Look, I've bought you some company."

Kenny made to stand but was stopped by the major's gun. He could only look on as his father and daughter were pushed across the hangar towards him. Aiden had deep cut to his head from which blood still ran freely down his cheek and onto his shoulder. Sorcha looked scared to death, clutching at her grandfather's arm as she sobbed uncontrollably.

"What have ya done ta them?" Kenny demanded in English.

"Nada," Geraldo answered and then changed to English. "Nothing – yet."

With Aiden and Sorcha at his side, Kenny hugged his family, as they were surrounded by the remains of the militia and then Kenny's heart sunk further as he recognized the group of heavily armed strangers. These had to be the CIA men who were after Westen and his friends.

"What do you want?" he asked.

"Michael Westen, Fiona Glenanne, Sam -"

"They've gone, you missed them," he answered honestly, his eyes straying to the Americans who stood watching and listening intently.

"You lie," Geraldo snarled, making a grab at Sorcha's arm.

The girl screamed loudly and Kenny pulled her close, putting himself between her and the major.

"Answer my questions or I hand the girl over to my men."

It was at that moment one of the American's stepped forward. "That's enough, Geraldo," he barked. "Stand down!"

"Mr. Malloy, my name is Reid. The people you are protecting are murderers, the man Westen is a traitor to his country. He has committed too many crimes to go into right now. Why get injured – let your family get hurt- to protect such a man? Where has he gone?"

"Son," Aiden hissed a warning.

But Kenny saw the truth of their situation. He had no such loyalty to a man he had known for less than twenty four hours.

"They went looking for another plane... Mine is busted."

"Carter, check he's telling the truth," Reid ordered one of his men. "So, if that's true, where have they gone?" He turned back to Kenny.

"I don't know."

"Mr. Malloy, if you lie to me again, I'm going to leave Major Geraldo to get the answers I need."

"Son, don't do it," Aiden growled.

"What choice do I have, Da?" Kenny answered and looked up at Reid. "They were going to get a plane off a private airfield near the jungle." He closed his eyes and tried to block out the sound of his father cursing him as a coward.

"How long ago did they leave?"

"I don't know. It wa' after midnight."

Reid motioned to his men and had Kenny Malloy dragged over to his radio. "Get them on the radio. Tell them if they don't land back here you and your family are going to be killed."

"They won't come back because of me," Kenny argued.

"Westen might not want to, but the briefs I've read on Axe and Porter, they won't want your families blood on their hands." He handed Kenny the microphone. "Make the call."

()()

"I repeat, if ya out there, Westen, this is Kenny. I have some folk har tha want ta see ya. They say they'll hurt us if ya don't land back har."

"We have to land," Inez spoke first.

"She's right," Sam reluctantly agreed. "We can't let them take the fall for us."

They all looked at Michael as he stared out of the windshield. It was hard to accept defeat, but he could see no other choice than to do as Kenny asked.

"Answer him. Tell them we're landing." He turned away, wanting to be alone.

He had finally done what he feared. He had gotten them all killed. Sinking down, he sat with his back against the fuselage and covered his head with his hands. Maybe he could make a deal for the others. Maybe he could talk to the team leader and convince him to let the others go.

()()

The Calle Del Philippe airfield came into sight and Inez brought the plane down to land. As she slowed down and came to a stop, she watched as two jeeps came down the runway towards her.

"Cut the engine and then open the doors. Tell your passengers to come out with their hands empty," A voice crackled directions over the radio.

Obeying the commands, Michael turned to the others. "Okay, this is it. I'll tell them we won't come out until we see the Malloys and then we do a swap. They come aboard and we'll go out." He sucked in a breath. "I'll try to talk to the guy in charge. I'll see if I can make a deal for you. None of you -" He stopped, unable to continue and turned away, brushing Fiona's hand from his arm. How could they want to have anything to do with him now?

"Michael!" Fiona couldn't keep the hurt out of her voice.

"Fi, leave him be." Sam caught hold of her arm and kept hold even after she punched him on the shoulder. "He has to do this... You have to let him."

Michael stepped into the doorway and leaned out. The two jeeps in the front were filled with local militia. Behind the plane, there were another two jeeps and, right there in front of him, was a large black van, surrounded by a full CIA tactical team.

"Come out, Westen. Keep your hands where we can see them," the agent in charge called out.

"Not until I know the Malloys are safe. Send them over here. We'll come out and they can come aboard."

Michael watched as the CIA agent conversed with the militia leader. Then with a wave of his hand, the major called for the Malloys to be brought over.

It looked like Aiden had taken a pounding; blood was caked the whole side of his face. Sorcha was terrified, clutching onto her father's arm tightly and stumbling as she walked. Kenny's face was flushed and he moved stiffly, obviously furious at the treatment his family had received, but also sick with worry that they were all about to be killed.

"You'll let them all go," Michael called out.

"You have my word, Westen. Now, get out here."

Michael slowly began to descend the steps, his hands raised and his eyes fixed on the CIA team leader. Behind him he could hear either Jesse or Sam he guessed getting ready to come out behind him.

What happened next took everybody by surprise.

The old man seemed to trip and stumble. The guard at his side reached to hold him up and then staggered back, blood blossoming from the hole in his chest. The loud crack of the second shot alerted everybody to what was happening and the guard next to Sorcha fell to the ground. A third and fourth shots saw Kenny free of the men holding his arms.

"GO!" The old man roared, firing another shot.

By now both the militia and Reid's CIA tactical team had got over the shock. They had all expected any attack to come from Michael Westen and his team, not a confused old man who could barely stand.

"Da!" Kenny tried to grab at his father's arm, but was driven back as bullets flew all around them.

In desperation, Kenny picked up one of the fallen men's guns and, in an effort to help protect Sorcha, he began firing.

Chaos reigned on the airfield as bullets flew in all directions. Michael had caught the rifle that Fiona thrown down to him and was soon joined by the rest of his team as they fought their way over to help the Irish family.

"C'mon! We have to get back aboard. Inez is turning the plane around."

More bullets came and a familiar voice calling out had Michael turning away to help Jesse pull Sam to his feet, the ex-SEAL's right arm hanging useless and bloody. Soon they were going to be over run as shots came at them from all directions. The only good thing was nobody had shot at the plane, but how long that piece of luck would hold was anybody's guess.

Keeping close and keeping up a steady stream of fire, they fought their way back to the aircraft. Inez had managed to manoeuvre around for a clear take off. Kenny and Sorcha were at the top of the steps when the girl let out a cry.

There was nothing any of them could do as Aiden turned from the group, holding a lit grenade in his hand.

"Get inside!" Fiona pushed the Irish couple until they fell into the aircraft. She knew what was about to happen and prayed they would all survive the upcoming explosion.

But he didn't throw it. He knew there was a risk that they would manage to throw it aside. So he thought of his home, his real home on the dark grey streets of Belfast, of the soft rain that fell as a mist and the smell of Guinness and cigarettes. He thought of his beloved Cassie, of his guilt at not being able to save her, his regret of taking his only child away from his home and of leaving his best friend to die in custody.

His body riddled with bullet holes, Aiden Malloy managed to reach the CIA command truck just as the grenade exploded.


	7. Friends & Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimmer: The song Different For Girls, which appears in this chapter is the property of Singer?Songwriter Joe Jackson. No copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> On other news, thank you for the Kudos and Comments for this story. I have 30 chapters already written and will posting 2 week while I work on completing the story.

The aircraft wavered dangerously as the wings dipped side to side, tossing the passengers inside first one way and then the other, as the pilot used every bit of her skill to regain control. There was a brief moment when the engines tried to stall, but then they were airborne, rising up and away from the scene of utter devastation below.

Jesse peered out of one of the small windows and let out a long low whistle. "There must have been some serious C4 in that van."

There was only a large smoking hole to show where the CIA command vehicle had been. One of the militia's Jeeps was on fire and the ground was littered with the dead and wounded. While it gave him no joy at all to see the damage Aiden Malloy's sacrifice had done to the San Miguelito militia and the CIA team sent to capture or more likely kill them, he was nonetheless pleased not to be in handcuffs or a body bag.

Wiping a hand over his bristle-covered head, Jesse turned away to look at where Michael and Fiona were working on Sam. The older man's arm was a mess. It looked like a bullet caught him just below the shoulder joint.

On the other side of the fuselage, Kenny Malloy sat holding his nearly hysterical daughter in his arms. From her reaction, Jesse guessed the Malloy's had kept this youngest member of the family in the dark about all the violence of their past.

"Jesse, go check in with Inez and find out if we can do anything to help her out of this mess," Michael called out as he held his best friend still while Fiona was busy digging into Sam's arm looking for any bullet fragments left behind.

"I'm on it," Jesse answered, moving swiftly to the front of the aircraft.

"What happened out there?" As soon as he stepped into the small cockpit, Inez Valdes had turned to look at him, her eyes wide with concern.

"Ah, the old guy, Aiden he - - er he had a grenade, and to save us he -" Jesse, stopped when he saw tears well up in the woman's eyes as she realized what he was trying to say.

"Kenny, oh god, how's Kenny? And Sorcha?"

"Not good, but don't sweat it, we got this. Fiona'll be back there with him. She's patching up Sam's arm now. He took one in the shoulder."

"I should -" Inez turned back to reading her instruments. "I need to find a place to land, we -"

"Hey, hey." Jesse was at her side, his hand on her shoulder. "Stopping would be very bad for our health. No, no, no, no, no, we have to keep going. There's gonna be hell to pay for this and you're the only one who can get us all outta here alive."

Gulping, Inez looked up at him and he did his best to reassure her. "I know we just met and all, but believe me when I tell you that Kenny and Sorcha are gonna be just fine unless you don't get on that radio and find us someone to cover our tracks all the way back to Miami."

Wiping away the tears Inez nodded and after taking a deep breath reached for the dial on the radio.

"I'll call a friend. I helped get his son and his family to the States; it was our first run... He works in the control tower near the border with Columbia. He can hide our signal."

"Columbia? Isn't that sort of out of our way?"

"Si, yes, but they will be expecting us to make a run straight for the north. So if I take us south and to the west, it may fool them."

"Sweet! See, this is why we need you up here." He smiled and patted her back. "I'm gonna go back now and see how Kenny is ... You need anything, just give me a shout out."

()()

Sam slept, his body slumped his head lolling to the side as he recovered from the effects of Fiona's makeshift surgery. His arm was now free of bullet fragments and had been sewn back up by. Wrapped in a layer of padded gauze and a thick bandage, it was protected from unnecessary movement in a sling.

While Fiona was sat with the Malloys, offering up her condolences, Michael was busy worrying if the bullet had done any permanent damage to Sam's arm. It had gone in close to the joint and, though it appeared to have missed the ligaments, it still may have managed to destroy some of the nerves. Until Sam came around, they wouldn't know for sure. He glanced into the plane's medical kit and grimaced, his friend was going to be in a world of pain when he woke up and they had nothing more than a few Tylelnol to give him for it.

"Well, the lady pilot is shook up, but she's gotta a plan to get us home." Jesse stepped over to stand next to him. "We're gonna detour through Columbia and then double back. She's gotta a buddy whose gonna help cover our tracks. It might take a bit longer, but she thinks she can get us in under the radar."

Michael nodded and then without warning a wave of dizziness made him weak kneed and, if it hadn't been for Jesse, he would have fallen. The younger man caught his arm and steadied him.

"Whoa, whoa, Mike, you should get some rest, man. It's gonna be a long flight and we've got nothing to do til we land."

"Yeah, I think I might," Michael agreed reluctantly. "Just for a while... I'll watch Sam, you go keep an eye on Fiona and the Malloy's." As he eased himself down, Michael threw a look over to Kenny and Fiona. "Where the hell did that old coot get a grenade from, anyway?"

"I dunno, I mean, they musta searched him, right?" Jesse shrugged. "Maybe they thought he was just a bat shit crazy old fart."

"Yeah, well, that old man just killed a lot of people. I could have-"

"No, no, man, you're blowing your own smoke if you think you were gonna talk those farm boys into letting Kenny's family go. And even if you had it wouldn't have done any good, cuz those militia guys would've killed them as soon as we were gone."

Sighing, Michael rubbed his eyes. He hated to admit it, but he was wiped out. "Killing Card's team is going to bring a lot more heat down on us. When we get back we all need to contact friends or family and tell 'em to get out of town for a while."

Jesse gazed down at Sam's pale complexion and haggard features. "I can't see Sam's squeeze not putting up a fight... He was just saying on the flight down he'd told her he was giving up all this CIA crap once we got the guy that killed Nate."

"I told Fiona the same thing," Michael admitted. "But at the moment they're hunting us and Elsa has a lot to lose."

But what Michael didn't know was that Elsa was very pro-active in protecting what she thought of as hers.

()()

THE WOMEN LEFT BEHIND  
()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

ELSA DEARBON

Elsa was trying to keep busy, but it wasn't easy. Sitting at her desk staring at the pile of paperwork that according to her P.A all required her urgent attention, her mind refused to work on anything other than why Sam Axe hadn't called her in over sixty hours.

Three days ago, her boyfriend had swept into their penthouse suite like a whirlwind, grabbing up what he called his "go bag".

"Sam?" she'd called out to attract his attention as he raced around the suite with a harried expression on his face, dragging his bulletproof vest out from the back of the closet and searching for his "lucky" pen knife which had gotten him out of so many sticky situations.

"I'll be back soon, pumpkin. I'm sorry I can't tell you where I'm going. You know the deal." He had barely looked at her as he stuffed these last items into the bag.

At the time, she hadn't been too concerned. She was becoming used to these sudden departures which he couldn't tell her anything about. Besides she had been busy preparing for a conference call with business partners in Dubai, so she had been a little distracted herself.

"But when I get back, I want to sit down and talk to you about something, something real important." he had added in a rush as he straightened up.

"Important?" That one word had gotten her full attention. She'd risen from her seat and crossed the room to lean in against him and kiss his bottom lip. "I can't wait. How about a little clue?" she'd teased.

Instead of replying, he had wrapped her up in his arms and held her close against his chest. The long deep kiss that followed left her so breathless her legs had actually quivered when he'd released her.

"If things go right, this will be the last time I have to leave you like this... That's all I'm gonna say for now. Be seeing ya soon, baby." And with that, he had marched out of the suite and into the elevator.

That had been three days ago and now she was beginning to worry. Ever since his near death experience in the Everglades, Sam had made a point of calling her first thing in the morning and the last thing at night whenever he was away. He had called late on the night he had left, sounding upbeat and confident.

"I can't tell you much, baby, but things are moving fast. I'll be home in the next coupla days. I love you."

But there had been no calls the following day. She'd told herself he was busy. But when she was turning off her bedside lamp at 3am and she still hadn't heard from him, she started to worry.

Now he had failed to call for a third time.

Biting down on her bottom lip, she pushed away the stack of reports she had been going through. Drumming her long manicured nails on her desk top, she looked at her phone. It was only one day. She was being silly.

There could be lots of reasons for why he hadn't called. If something had happened to him, Michael, Fiona or Jesse would have found a way to let her know.

But the feeling of dread would not go away. Picking up the page she had been studying, she looked at the figures. But the line of numbers meant nothing to her when "her Sammy" might be laying injured or dead in some foreign hell hole.

It was no good. She couldn't sit there and wait any longer. Snatching up the handset, she put a call through to Sam's cell. Her heart sank when it went straight to voice-mail. She tried Michael's number and got the same result. She didn't have numbers for Fiona or Jesse or for the CIA agent who was in charge of sending them off on whatever dangerous mission they were working. Besides, legally she knew she had no rights to know anything about what Sam did when in the employ of the CIA. They weren't married or even officially living together.

Dropping the phone back onto the cradle, she tried to get back to work, all the while trying to convince herself that her worries were groundless. But the feeling in her gut was only getting worse. She'd felt the same way when her husband had first started complaining about feeling ill and more recently when she had asked Sam to talk to Evan about the stolen bracelet.

She was sure of it; something was wrong. Forgetting about the paperwork, she thought about what little Sam had been able to tell her of his recent activities, it wasn't much. They had been searching for the man who killed Michael's brother. The FBI had no leads and, even though they had managed to find the killer's name, the trail had quickly gone cold. But then out of the blue, Michael had a fresh lead which was sending them all off to God only knew where.

Massaging her temples, Elsa reached a decision. If Sam was in danger, she couldn't sit idly by and wait for a call from one of his friends. She had her own friends, powerful friends, and, for the very first time in her life, she was going to ask a few of them to use their influence to get her the answers she needed. Picking up her phone, she scrolled through the contacts list until she found the name she was looking for.

"Good afternoon, Congressman Cowley's office, and how may the Congressman help you?" the voice of a cheerful young P.A. sang out a greeting.

"Good afternoon, please tell the Congressman that Mrs. Elsa Dearbon would like a private word with him."

With her fingernails tapping impatiently on her desk, she waited for the Head of the Intelligence Oversight Committee to pick up his phone.

()()

RUTH WESTEN

Mrs. Ruth Westen pulled her silver Honda Civic rental car over to the side of the road. She was still two blocks away from her destination, but before she faced Madeline Westen, she needed to settle her nerves and pull herself together. Sitting up straight with her hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles had turned white, she took several deep cleansing breaths, while behind her black sunglasses her eyes were filling with tears.

When she had first made the decision to make this trip, she had promised herself that she would be strong and, regardless of how people looked at her or spoke to her, she would not break and here she was about to ball her eyes out because of a few lyrics in an ancient song playing on the radio.

()()

What the hell is wrong with you tonight?  
I can't seem to say or do the right thing  
Wanted to be sure you're feeling right  
Wanted to be sure we want the same thing 

()()

She would never forget that night. That night she finally told Nate Westen she couldn't take any more.

He had been gone for two days, but it hadn't stopped his loser friends turning up at her door at all hours, pushing their way inside,and leaving their ill-gotten gains in her spare bedroom. Nor had it stopped all the phone calls from the people he owed money to and their nasty veiled threats to harm him, her or their child if they didn't get paid.

Two days gone and then he had just breezed through the door with his face all beaten up and stinking of cheap booze, acting as if he didn't have a care in the world.

"I know, I know. I shoulda called, but hey, I couldn't get away, babe." His crooked smile and infectious good mood put a stop to all her recriminations.

"I've got it all sorted out, Ruthie." He grinned at her, pulling her into a tight embrace. "I'm just gonna change inta something a bit smarter an' then I'll go square things with Luther. Everything is gonna be different from now on, I promise."

She had slammed a plate of spaghetti bolognese down in front of him, her mouth set in a thin straight line, her eyes tear-filled and hostile. She had heard it all before. She had lost count of the times he had made the same promises only for him to break his word days later.

"What the hell, Ruthie? I've gotta go out in half an hour. I got no time to change again."

"When you go out, are you taking that stuff your friend Jimmy dropped off this afternoon?" Gone was the happy care-free woman she had been up to the fourth month of her pregnancy. All through the remainder of the pregnancy, Charlie's birth and especially after their move to Miami, she had slowly been morphing into a carbon copy of her own mother.

"That stuff, as you call it, is paying the next two months rent, baby. All we have to do is store it for a week or two. I mean, it's what you want, isn't it? A roof over our heads and enough cash to pay for your next pedicure?"

His words had stung and the tears had started. She had been determined not to cry in front of him, but she'd been unable to contain her misery.

Looking back, it seemed all she did in the last weeks of her time in Miami was cry.

"Hey, hey, babe." He'd jumped to his feet and wrapped her in his arms, kissing her cheek, kissing the tears away. "I am so sorry. I just thought you wanted – you said you needed to feel safe, that we weren't going to lose this place like we lost the one in Vegas." He'd crushed her against his chest. "I'm trying, Ruthie. I'll get Jimmy to come over and pick his stuff up later tonight, I promise."

When she shut her eyes, she could still feel his warmth, the touch of his hands, the softness of his lips. She wished the song would end, because she didn't have the strength to reach for the dial to switch it off.

()()

She said - I can't believe it  
You can't - possibly mean it  
Don't we - all want the same thing  
Don't we  
Well who said anything about love  
No not love she said  
Don't you know that it's different for girls  
Don't give me love  
No not love she said  
Don't you know that it's different for girls  
You're all the same

()()

His friends had started calling around not long after they settled into their Miami home and now they didn't even stop to ask if they could leave their ill-gotten gains. They just barged inside and left their stolen goods in the spare bedroom and he expected her just to go along with it.

"It's easy money, Ruthie. It helps pay the bills. It not hurting anyone. Just let it go, babe."

She had stopped sleeping at night. Instead she would lay awake, terrified the police were going to break down her door at any moment and arrest them all and take Charlie away.

But every time she complained, he had managed to break through her resolve. One look into his soulful puppy dog eyes and earnest expression and she was done for.

Swiping at her eyes, she reminded herself that she would never see that or any other of his expressions ever again. Thanks to his big brother, Nate was gone, killed doing a job that "super spy big bro," Michael Westen, should have been doing by himself.

He had cupped her chin, raising her face so they could gaze into each other's eyes. "I love you, Ruthie. I'm doing this for us, for Charlie. I just need to raise a bit more cash, that's all. Jimmy said he knows about a sure thing. Come next week, we'll be flush. We'll take a trip to Tampa if you like. A few days in Tampa would be nice, wouldn't it?"

Taking a deep breath, she'd stepped away. She remembered how hollow her voice had sounded when she had spoken. "I want a divorce."

"What?!"

"I want a divorce. I can't do this anymore. My mom was right; we rushed things and now we're paying the price."

"But –," he'd sounded so lost and hurt.

"No, you're not going to talk me out of it. This isn't working. I don't want to live like this. I don't want Charlie growing up thinking this is normal."

"What the hell, Ruthie? What's the hell's wrong with you tonight? I can never do or say the right thing for you." His hands gripped her shoulders as he stared into her eyes. "I thought we wanted the same thing. Can't you see I'm trying my best?"

She'd turned away, twisting out of his grip. "Well, it's not enough." she'd answered quietly before hurrying from the room, picking up bits of clothing along the way.

He'd followed her, trying to stop her. "Sweetheart, Ruthie, baby. I'll get rid of the stuff tonight, I promise. Don't leave me."

"I don't believe you, you don't mean it. You'll get rid of this load, but the bedroom will be full again next week. What about when Charlie is old enough to know what's going on?"

"I love you, Ruth. Don't do this," he begged. Standing in the middle of the room, he looked so lost and broken.

But once she had started, she just couldn't stop herself. "Don't you talk to me about love. If you loved us, you wouldn't have gambled away your business and our home. We wouldn't have stolen TV's and computers in the house and I wouldn't be dodging calls from all the people you owe money to. Call me when you've straighten yourself out and gotten rid of all your loser friends."

She'd stormed out with Charlie in one arm and a suitcase in the other, slamming the door behind her.

Nate had followed her out into the street. He had tried to block the driveway, leaning on the hood of the car and screaming for her to give him another chance. He had only given up when Charlie began to howl in fear at all the noise. Standing aside, he had stayed in her rear view mirror until she'd turned a corner.

It hadn't ended there, of course. There were all the phone calls and messages. She wasn't the only one who had run home to their mother. Along with Nate's calls and messages, her voicemail had also been filled with messages from Madeline Westen, too. 

"Nate's sorry.".............."How could you leave so suddenly?".............."If you just took the time to tell him what he's done wrong."...................."Maybe you could both visit a counsellor together."............

The advice had been endless and in the end she had just started screening her calls and deleting the voicemails without listening to them. By the time she had reached Las Vegas and arranged to get her old job back, she had worked out what had gone wrong.

It was true they had loved each other, but love on its own wasn't enough. Besides, his idea of love had turned out to be nothing more than good intentions. He never meant to lose his limo business, their house, or end up in thousands of dollars of debt. He hadn't meant to miss the birth of their son or gamble away her grandmother's jewellery but he did and the other things she chose not to think about.

She knew he loved both her and Charlie and he would have died for them, but he would also have let them live in squalor and go hungry so he could feed his addiction.

No, love was different for her. Love meant safety and thinking of others. Love was about protecting and nurturing. She would give her life for her son. She would keep him safe and away from harm and that meant she had no choice but to leave Nate.

Then came the final straw. She had been getting ready to drop Charlie off at the sitters so she could get to work and that was when she had seen her brother in law's girlfriend on TV being arrested for bombing the British consulate in Miami.

She had decided there and then, along with everything else in their crazy life, she needed to restore order to the chaos. She wasn't like them; she would never be like them. Nate, Michael, his terrorist girlfriend and their chain smoking abomination of a mother, they were all the same. Any thought of returning to Miami and reconciling died that day.

The song was over and she sighed, straightening up in her seat. She was on her way to visit that chain smoking abomination in her own nicotine stinking lair. The woman had not exactly banned her from her own estranged husband's funeral, but she had made it very clear she wasn't welcome. So to keep the peace, she had stayed away. But Madeline Westen had things that belonged to her and Charlie. This time she was not going to be driven away.

()()()

THE TWO MRS. WESTENS

Parking on the street outside the Westen family home, Ruth left the car and, with her long blonde hair swaying in a high pony tail, made her way up the steps to her mother in law's front door. Setting her jaw and straightening her shoulders, she rapped sharply on the wooden door.

After a full minute of hanging around without an answer, Ruth huffed and took a long narrow eyed look at the Blue Caddy sitting in the driveway.

"This is just typical of Madeline Westen." This time Ruth hammered on the door. "Well, I haven't traveled all the way from Vegas to Miami to be left standing on some old lady's doorstep."

She was just drawing her pedicured foot back to deliver a hard kick when the door swung open and the Matriarch of the Westen family came into view.

Ruth was taken aback. This wasn't the woman she'd seen the last time she had been at the house. All the make-up, the large plastic earrings and the bright garish clothing were gone. The intense piercing eyes were dull and the spiky bottle blond hair was flat and, by the looks of it, Madeline Westen was in dire need of getting her roots done. Some things however didn't change; the house absolutely stank of nicotine. Doing her best to hide her loathing and a desire to gag, Ruth pasted on her patented Las Vegas casino workers smile.

"Mrs. Westen."

"What do you want?" Madeline's voice sounded as dull and listless as her appearance.

Ruth's steadfast resolve began to slip at the sight of the broken woman before her. She had planned to be strong. She had been determined not to take any of Madeline Westen's snide remarks and false charm, but she had not prepared herself for this.

"I've come to collect the stuff from the house – from N-Nate's. I wanted some of Nate's personal effects for Charlie."

At the mention of Charlie, a small spark of light came to Madeline's eyes and she looked around Ruth to peer at the car parked on the road and the small dark haired boy sitting in the back.

"Come in. All his effects are all boxed up. I'll have to get them out of the garage."

She did not want to go into that house and she definitely wasn't going to let Charlie be exposed to the haze of smoke that was actually trailing out of the door past her like a bank of fog. However, her heart did go out to the elderly woman stood before her.

This was something she hadn't prepared for; she was actually feeling pity for the woman who had helped to make the last two years of her life an utter misery.

"Can we sit in the yard?"

Madeline didn't even bother with a snarky comment, but just nodded and tilted her head. "Go through the gate. I'll bring out some iced tea... Are you okay with iced tea?"

"Ahh, there it is," Ruth thought. "Mama Westen's first dig of the day about my allergies"

Instead of snapping back, she took a breath and widened her smile even further. "That'll be amaz-. That would be great... Thank you."

Ruth sat down on the step which led up to the kitchen door while Charlie toddled around in circles, squealing in excitement at being allowed of the car. Hearing the kitchen door open, Ruth got to her feet and took the tray of drinks off the older woman and was also grateful to see she had brought out a sippy cup filled with juice for Charlie.

The two women sat side by side on the steps while Charlie played on the grass in front of them. Ruth nervously spun her fingers through her blond hair. Now she was next to the woman who had been the cause of so many of her arguments with her deceased husband, she didn't know what to say.

"I want Charlie to know about his father, to know where he came from. Family is important to me. I don't see my own Mom and Dad that often." She suddenly blurted.

()

Mama always told me, save yourself  
Take a little time and find the right girl  
Then again don't end up on the shelf  
Logical advice gets you in a whirl

()

There was that damn song again, reminding her how her last conversation had gone with her own mother. "I told you that boy wasn't right for you. You went from one city full of sin to another. You need to find yourself a real man, somebody who can look after you and Charlie, before you end up on the shelf."

"So, you're going to stay in Miami?" Madeline was using the same needy tone of voice she used whenever she would call Nate to come over to change a light bulb or to fix the one of her ancient appliances.

"God, no! No, I have no friends here and I have a job back in Vegas. – I – I'm sorry, but – ." Ruth took a deep breath.

She was doing this for Charlie, – and for Nate; he would have wanted his son to know his family. "But I was thinking that I would come to Miami maybe twice a year for you to see him – and maybe you could come visit us in Vegas. You know, if you wanted."

"That's very kind of you, Ruth," Madeline answered softly. Her fingers were twitching for a cigarette,but she was obviously doing her best to restrain the urge.

"I just think that it's well it's important he grows up knowing about his Dad." She was praying that Michael didn't want to be involved in his nephew's life. He hadn't up to now, but who knew what went through that man's head. He was after all still dating a terrorist.

"Can I ask you something?" Madeline asked and when the younger woman nodded. "Why did you leave Nate?"

"Oh – I..." She didn't want to add to this woman's pain.

"Please, I'm trying." Madeline stopped and Ruth was surprised to see tears in her eyes. "After Nate – I blamed Michael for everything," she sniffed. "But I've been speaking to – never mind. I just wondered, with Nate – ?"

Ruth watched as the older woman crumbled before her and, after a moment of hesitation, she slipped an arm around Madeline's shoulders. Then she found herself talking.

"He tried really hard in Vegas, but his limo company just couldn't compete with the big boys an – and when he missed a payment on the house, he was worried about the money he'd borrowed off you and about what Michael would say." She paused and took a breath. "I didn't find out until he came back here to tell you about the pregnancy. One of my friends came by the house and told me Nate had been gambling again and had built up some big debts. He was still trying to win enough to pay off our loans and keep the limo when I went into labor with Charlie. I told him then he had to stop or I was leaving."

Madeline sniffed. The story was familiar, but without the angry words and fists. She closed her eyes, praying she wasn't about to hear about her baby boy laying hands on this young woman who sat at her side.

"He promised things would be better if we left Vegas. He said the temptation was too much. I didn't want to come here. I knew nobody. I hate the humidity. Until I met Nate, I'd never been out of Nevada."

She sighed. "But we made a go of it. He tried really hard. But getting work was nearly impossible and we never had enough to pay off the loans he'd taken out. Then his old friends started coming around and before long there was boxes of stolen –."

She stopped and took a breath. This was the first time she had ever spoken about what went on between her and Nate.

"That's when I went back to Vegas. I couldn't let Charlie grow up like that. You know, with a father gambling, getting drunk, and the house full of stolen goods, never knowing if we would have money enough to buy baby food or diapers." She shook her head. "I told him to come back when he straightened himself out. When I didn't hear anything for a month, I called and told him I was starting divorce proceedings."

"Did he ever, was he ever – violent? He saw a lot of that as a kid. I – "

"No! No, he was sweet. He always had the best of intentions," Ruth tried to reassure the older woman. "But it just wasn't enough, I guess. The last time I spoke to him, he told me he was straightening himself out; that he was working on something important with his brother and the CIA.

Ruth sighed again. "I didn't believe him. I guess I should have... I tell Charlie all the time his Daddy was a hero. He died helping to catch a bad man."

Madeline gave a soft bittersweet smile. "Thank you."

They drank their iced tea and watched Charlie toddle unsteadily about the yard in silence. Ruth had come to the house originally just to get what she wanted and then to go as quickly as possible. But she was basically a kind hearted woman and she couldn't face leaving Madeline alone with her grief.

She had no idea how her next words were going to be taken. But she thought, she had nothing to lose. "Maybe when we come to Miami – if it wasn't quite so – smoky." Ruth winced, waiting for the explosion which didn't come. "Charlie could visit with you... I don't see my Mom anymore and Nate always said how much Charlie liked visiting you."

Madeline felt a rush of joy. It caused her to gasp and her hand went to her chest as tears welled in her eyes. She had never liked Ruth and the young woman had let her know the feeling was pretty mutual. Yet here she was, offering a stupid old woman a second chance.

"Thank you. I don't have the words." Madeline wasn't use to such kindness. She went to light up another smoke, but stopped herself and instead she put them aside.

Forcing a smile, she spoke with a shaky voice. "I guess I have to make a trip to the pharmacy for some of those nicotine patches."

Now it was Ruth's turn to offer up a tentative smile. There was no way on earth she had expected things to end up this way. She got to her feet. "It's nearly time for Charlie's dinner. How about I come back tomorrow and we go through Nate's – go through the boxes then."

Charlie crawled on to his grandmother's lap, held her cheeks firmly in his little hands and planted a kiss on her lips. Madeline gasped as a warm wave of love nearly overwhelmed her. She held the little boy to her chest and breathed in his scent. It was easy to see Madeline Westen could have stayed like that forever, but after a few seconds he was wriggling to get free.

"I'll come back early tomorrow. We can spend the day together – if you like?"

"Thank you so much for this, Ruth. You don't know how much this means to me."

()()()

MADELINE WESTEN

Madeline watched Ruth drive away with tears in her eyes. It had taken the words of two people that previously she wouldn't have crossed the road for if they had been on fire to set her straight.

Michael's boss, Tom Card, had been so nice; only after she had blackmailed him, of course. But, still the man had been sincere in what he had told her about Michael and what he had said about why her boys were so different. It had all made so much sense. It hadn't made her feel any better, but it had given her some understanding.

And now Ruth, her baby boy's bright, bubbly, brainless ex-wife, had given her the opportunity to keep her grandson, her last little piece of Nate, in her life.

Slowly walking back into the house, she noticed for the first time the state she had allowed it to get into. Nate had been gone for six week, and the grief was still raw. Michael was off - She shook her head. She wouldn't think about what Michael was doing.

Her last words to her eldest boy had been cruel. She had seen the hurt in his eyes and she had remained cold to him, refusing to even let him hold her hand. What he was doing was dangerous in the extreme. What if he died thinking she didn't care?

Walking around the house, she opened every window and turned on every fan and, as she did, she prayed for Michael's safe return. She was being given a second chance to have Charlie in her life. If- no, when- Michael came back, she would give him the same chance. She would forgive him and maybe, in time, she would be able to forgive herself too.

()()()

DANI PEARCE.

When Danni Pearce had taken the long flight from Miami to Mumbai, she had expected to hate her new posting. It was after all a punishment, a massive step down from being a senior field agent running covert operations to tracing counterfeit drug manufacturers with a team of fraud investigators.

However, within the first week, she was surprised to find she was falling in love with the vibrant cosmopolitan city and her co-workers were not the government drones she had believed the office would be filled with. They were as expected, tenacious pen pushers, spending eighty percent of their time seeking out fake company credentials and the remaining time ordering tactical teams to search warehouses while they stood back until the buildings were secure. However, during their downtime, they were fun loving, friendly and none of them had inquired too deeply into why she was now part of their team.

In those early days she spent a lot of her time letting them get on with the job they were obviously very good at, while she tried to get a better handle on the job by studying old case files. It hadn't taken long for her to come to the conclusion that there were not going to be any easy wins for her. For every counterfeit ring that got closed down, another one would spring up. It was definitely not a job for the high strung or easily bored and her staff reflected that.

As one week became two and so on, she fell into the team's routine. They were all housed together on the twenty second floor of the Golden Palace, a four star hotel in the main commercial district of the city. They traveled to the office space the agency rented for them near the docks every day in two minivans and in the evening they frequently met up to eat together or visit one of the many theatres or cinemas nearby. At work, they were tenacious and dedicated, but in their free time they switched off and forgot about the job and enjoyed the bright lights of Mumbai.

By the end of that first month, she was beginning to feel the move was, in fact, a good thing. She was already drinking less coffee and was sleeping more peacefully at night and, maybe the biggest change of all, with no untrustworthy spies to take up all her time, she had begun to make friends again.

On this particular morning, after her regular morning workout followed by a shower, she had taken her breakfast out onto the balcony to watch the sun slowly peek above the horizon. Opening up a two day old copy of the New York Times, she was relaxing when a familiar but totally out of place sound caught her attention.

It was the unmistakeable sound of automatic gunfire, worse still it was coming from outside her room. She froze, but only for a second before her instincts took over. She was twenty two floors up; there was no way out over the balcony. Rushing back inside her room, she grabbed her purse and slid to a stop when she saw the door handle was being tried. She looked around desperately for somewhere to hide.

Lying flat in the narrow gap between the ceiling and the top of her wardrobe, with her gun in her hand, she watched as two men armed with assault rifles burst through the door. She remained completely still as they ransacked her possessions before finally leaving. From her position, she couldn't see out into the corridor, but she could hear angry voices barking orders and the frightened cries of the hotel guests who hadn't had her training being rounded up and forced downstairs.

It had been well over a year since Mumbai had last been rocked by terrorist attacks. Now it seemed that they were starting up again.

Carefully lowering herself off the wardrobe, she started of thinking about strategy. She was going to have to go out into the hallway and try to find out what had happened to the rest of her team.

Getting into black pants and t-shirt, she slipped her feet into her sneakers and checked her gun. As she cautiously opened the door to the hall, she took a deep breath. What she would give to have that untrustworthy spy, Michael Westen and his little band of misfits, at her side now.

But in the skies over another continent thousands of miles away, Michael Westen's team had problems of their own.


	8. A Sweet Sorrow

Tom Card had tried to kill him. His training officer, the one man in the CIA he should have been able to trust with his life, was the man who had given the order which resulted in Nate's death. But Tom hadn't let it end there. No, the cold-blooded sonuvabitch had tried to kill them all.

Flexing his fingers, Michael laid his head back against the fuselage, letting the vibrations from the plane's engines run through his body, lulling his senses and calming his anger. Tom Card was all he seemed to be able to think of: training officer, trusted friend, traitorous bastard – Dead Man.

Michael took a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh. It had been years since he had last felt like this. He could feel an ice cold, murderous rage building up inside of him as a variety of scenarios played out in his mind. In each one he envisioned Tom Card falling to the ground with a neat little hole in between his eyes and a great big, blood and brain splattered exit wound where the back of his head should have been.

He shifted uneasily. He needed to keep a grip on his anger and frustration – just for a little bit longer. He needed to remember he wasn't only contemplating a man's death out of vengeance; he was also doing it to protect his friends. He was going to have to face Card and get him to admit what he had done. Then, once he had the evidence – well, then he would make sure the bastard couldn't threaten his friends and family ever again.

The aircraft hit some light turbulence and the weight of Sam Axe slumping heavily against his arm broke into Michael's dark thoughts. The wounded man continued to sleep peacefully through the sudden unexpected movements of the plane. Thanks to Fiona's use of Tylenol and cheap Panamanian brandy as a sedative, the ex-SEAL was getting a pain free flight.

Carefully propping his friend back up, Michael took a moment to study Sam's arm. It was a mess. The makeshift bandage wrapped tightly around the older man's arm was already turning red, as blood soaked through the layers of padding underneath.

The bullet had fragmented when it tore its way into Sam's bicep, shredding the bulky muscle. It would probably keep his friend out of action for weeks, if not months. Swallowing down the guilt and anger, the spy added Sam's injury to the long list of things for which he was holding Tom Card responsible.

The sound of low murmuring voices coming from the cockpit got his attention and he half turned and caught sight of Kenny Malloy's back as the Irishman leaned over his girlfriend's shoulder, speaking quietly into her ear. After a moment, Michael turned his attention away from the couple; they deserved their privacy. Besides, he couldn't think of a single thing he could say to Malloy that would make things right. He had used Kenny, dragging the whole family into his quest to get back home, and he had led a crazy old man to his death.

"Is this what you do, Michael? Use people?"

He remembered his mother asking him that question years ago. It had been her first wake up call to what his job involved and she hadn't liked it one bit.

Pushing away thoughts of his mother, Michael turned his head slightly to check on Jesse. The tall man was lying on his side with his face turned away from where Michael sat. Unable to see the younger man's features, Michael guessed from the relaxed way the rest of his body lay that he was sleeping.

Further down the plane Fiona sat with her arms wrapped around Sorcha Malloy as the teenager slept. The girl had been nearly hysterical and she'd had every right to be so upset, forced from her bed and hopefully just held prisoner by the militia and Card's black ops team. She had then been caught up in a violent, bloody battle which would have made many a man tremble.

Michael bit down on his lower lip, wondering if the girl had actually witnessed her grandfather's sacrifice. He blinked away the moisture building in his eyes. He should have over-ruled Fiona's wish to involve the Malloys. If I had just – He stared up at the ceiling while he took back control over his emotions.

Fiona... After a final swipe at his eyes, he concentrated on her, focusing on her beautiful face, her delicate chin resting on top of the young girl's head. Even looking tired and drawn, she was still the most wonderful thing in his life. He kept his eyes on her as she slept. In a few more hours, they would be back in Florida and he would leave her again.

This is Ireland all over again. Just like back then, he had made promises he couldn't keep and now he was compounding the similarity by sneaking away without a word of explanation or even a simple goodbye. He had no time to make her understand that being around him was too dangerous; besides, she would just laugh at him if he tried.

And if he tried to tell her she was distracting him and making him soft? Or how trying to watch over them all was causing him to make far too many mistakes? If he was ever foolhardy enough to utter those words? He managed to raise a small half smile and shook his head. She would beat the crap out of him until he saw stars. He could imagine, as he dodged and blocked the blows coming his way, how she would berate him verbally as well, reminding him forcefully that without his friends providing invaluable tactical support, he would have died at least ten times in the last six years.

The smile faded away. It was no good. He had to cut himself off, force himself to see them as nothing more than assets. It was time to forget them and move on. If he was going to beat Card, he couldn't give his old mentor any sort of leverage.

He sniffed… forget them… he wasn't sure he could do that. He pushed away the rising misery. If things went the way he suspected, he probably wouldn't be alive long enough to miss them anyway.

Sighing, Michael let his head drop back against the side of the plane and closed his eyes, letting fatigue pull him under into a light restless sleep.

()()

Inez brought the cargo plane down to land at a small northern Florida airport where Kenny Malloy had a couple of contacts who were willing to alter a few details in the flight records to help keep their identities a secret. Between the two smugglers, they had used up every favor they had stored up over the years getting them all safely out of South American airspace. It meant that as far as anybody connected to the FAA was concerned, they were nothing more than a training flight which had originated in South Texas.

Taking the lead, Michael stepped out of the aircraft first and paused on the tarmac to take in his surroundings. The airport was little more than a single landing strip with a long, squat dirty cream-colored building and small blue roofed terminal off to one side. Seeing no sign of CIA or FBI tactical squads hiding in the long grass or in any of the brush which dotted the area, he signalled for the others to disembark.

Jesse came out next and immediately turned to help ease Sam down onto solid ground. The ex-SEAL looked terrible. The limited supply of pain medication had stopped working over an hour earlier and now he was pasty-faced and shaking, as agonizing throbbing pain shot through his damaged arm.

It hadn't helped that, because of the bloody state of his arm and clothing, he'd had to force his injured limb into an old, badly-fitting padded jacket that Fiona had found under a tarpaulin to hide it from any nosy passer-bys.

"Can you walk?" Michael asked worriedly as soon as he had seen Sam's condition.

"I'm fine, buddy," Sam had assured him grimly.

"Okay, then," Michael gestured with a nod of his head for Jesse to keep an eye on the older man. "Where to?" He directed this comment to Inez, as Kenny had hurried away as soon as his feet had hit the ground.

"Kenny has to go clear things with his contacts. He'll catch up with us in a little while. Follow me. We go out through a gate at the back of the building and the security guards are going to be kept busy for the next ten minutes." Inez urged them to follow her as she clutched Sorcha's hand.

They followed their pilot across the cracked and worn tarmac until they reached the side of the drab concrete building which housed the small departure and arrival lounges. Ignoring the door which would have led them into the arrivals gate at the terminal, they continued around the side of building to an unlocked abandoned security gate. With Inez still leading the way, they slipped through to the outside and across the airport's parking lot into the back entrance of the diner.

Once inside, Michael scanned the room quickly. Ignoring the décor, he concentrated solely on the important things. With one brief flicker of his eyes, he had identified the exits and cleared the all the occupants of being potential threats.

There was two employees, one an elderly guy in the back and a middle aged waitress who barely glanced in their direction before turning back to the newspaper which lay open on the counter.

In a booth near the front window, over-looking the entrance to the airport, a young family sat eating a meal, their three small children fidgeting and making a lot of noise. At one of the four tables which were squashed into the center of the room, two elderly ladies chatted away in between mouthfuls of a large shared ice cream topped with a variety of fruit and whipped cream.

Generally speaking, neither the CIA nor the FBI employed senior citizens or sent agents out with their children in tow. So, with no immediate threats to his group, Michael pointed to a vacant table close to the kitchen and took the chair with the best view of the exits as his own.

By the time Kenny arrived, they all had cups of coffee and had managed to scrounge up enough money to get Sorcha a ham sandwich and a slice of apple pie.

"You have to eat," Fiona had coaxed the teenager. "Ya have ta be strong fer yar da."

"Am not hungry," Sorcha had pouted, wiping at her red rimmed eyes. " I cannae eat a thing."

"Sorcha, you haven't eaten since yesterday. You must try," Inez had added in rapid Spanish.

Under the watchful eyes of the two women, Sorcha had taken a small bite of her sandwich and then soon had been gulping down the food. She'd been just pushing away an empty plate as Kenny strode across the diner and slumped down in the chair next to his daughter.

"We can leave tha plane here fer a few days. Davey said thar's a fella in Georgia looking ta buy a small cargo plane. We might be able ta get rid o' it fer cash providing ya don't mind sellin' cheap." He directed his words to Inez, before turning to the rest of the group. "I'm gonna put in a call ta some relatives up north, see if we can stay with 'em fer a while, 'til we can get this sorted out. How about you folks? Ya got somewhere ta go?"

"We'll be fine, Kenny," Michael answered smoothly. "But, before you go we should make sure we have a way of contacting you... You know just in case."

"I'd prefer it if ya left us out o' whatever it is yar up ta." There was a hint of a warning in Kenny's voice.

"I – I don't want you involved. I just want a way of checking that you're all safe," Michael replied quickly. "Hopefully, you'll never hear from us again. But just in case -." He left the end of the sentence open.

"Fine," Kenny agreed grudgingly. "Thar's a payphone jus' outside. I'll make a call, find us somewhere ta stay and we can part ways."

"Sure," Michael agreed, happy that Kenny was taking care of his daughter and girlfriend. Once they were sorted out and safely out of the way, he could concentrate solely on his friends.

With that in mind, he turned his attention to Sam. The ex-SEAL looked truly terrible; blood loss and pain had left him pale and shaky. His arm was still hidden from view by the old jacket.

"Sam," Michael began to put his plan into action. "Do you have some way of contacting Elsa? You know, off the grid? I know it breaks protocol, but-"

Large, pain-filled brown eyes looked up and he frowned. "I don't want to drag Elsa into this, Mikey," Sam rasped out.

"We need some place to hole up while we come up with some way of dealing with Card and you need some decent pain killers and fresh bandages." Michael pointed out blandly. "Unless you want to risk losing the use of that arm. It's a long way back to Miami."

"Uh-ah." Sam shook his head. "She's better off left out of it. I can suck it up. What is it a seven – eight hour drive? You'll just have to get something roomy."

"Sam, she must be worried sick." Fiona shot Michael a look filled with anger, before leaning forward so she could look at Sam eye to eye. "If Card hasn't gotten to her yet, he must think she's not a threat. She'll want to know you're safe, Sam. You should call her. You don't have to ask her for anything. Just let her know you're still thinking about her."

Sam blinked slowly. He hated involving the love of his life, but Michel and Fiona had a point. He nodded reluctantly and glanced out to where Kenny stood talking into the payphone. "I gave her a burner. I'd made her a promise to call every day," he finished sadly as he realized he had broken his word.

"There you go. She'll be waiting to hear from you. Think how much better you'll feel after talking to her and after you've had a couple of good nights' sleep," Michael encouraged with a smile.

In the back of his mind, he was remembering he had made a similar promise to call his mother. He had also promised Fiona that he was going to leave the CIA... Well, in a way he was going to keep that promise. Just not in the way he had meant to when he had said the words.

"I'll wait for Kenny to finish up and then I'll give her a call," Sam conceded with a sigh. "To be honest, a night in a decent bed would be good."

"Great," Michael enthused with a big grin.

But he was already thinking about something else. Would Card have someone watching Sam's girlfriend? Fiona thinks not. But, yes, he would, definitely; it's what he would have done and since Card had trained him –

"Sam, before she speaks, get her to go down the pool. It should be noisy enough down there to stop any eavesdropping and remember to keep it short, so they can't trace you."

As soon as they saw Kenny was finished with his call, Jesse helped Sam onto his feet and, with a handful of change in his pocket, both men went outside.

Michael sat back in his chair and let the tension slip from his shoulders. The first step in his plan was under way. Sam would call Elsa and ask for her help. They were less than eight miles west of Tallahassee, where Elsa had a five star hotel. He just had to hope that Elsa was more concerned than pissed about Sam's missed calls. If things went the way, he hoped he would soon be leaving his friends safe and sound in a luxury penthouse while he drove south overnight for his early morning rendezvous with his ex-training officer.

He turned his mind to the second step: weapons. Tom Card deserved something special. He was just running through the inventory he had stored in a lock up in Homestead when:

"Ow!" he grumbled as a sharp pointy finger suddenly jabbed into his sore side. "What's that for?" He turned his head to glare at Fiona, who was sitting next to him.

"What's up with you?" she demanded angrily. "We don't need to involve Elsa in any of this. We could book into a cheap motel and hole up for a couple of days."

"A motel room? Fi, really? I've barely got the cash to cover the tab on six coffees and a sandwich," Michael hissed. "How about you?"

Fiona huffed, before speaking to him as if explaining something to a small child. "Asking for her help is setting her up as a target for Card. Elsa has a lot to lose, Michael, and Sam loves her."

Michael shifted round in his chair and dropped his hands down on Fiona's thin shoulders and looked into her eyes. "I'm going to fix this, I promise. You just have to trust me. But for right now, I'm thinking about Sam. He needs a place to rest, otherwise I'm worried about what he's going to lose- If that wound gets infected, it could cost him his arm." He pushed down all the guilt he was feeling for shamelessly using his best friend's injury in such a way.

"I do trust you," she sighed, all the fight going out of her. As she leaned in closer, the angry pointy finger was now one of five resting softly on his chest. "It's just so many people have been hurt. I don't want to see –,"

"I know, I know." He looked over her head to where Kenny stood with one arm draped over Inez Valdes shoulder and the other hand clasping his daughter's hand. The guilt of using the Malloys was getting heavier all the time. "Maybe you should go make our goodbyes. I'll wait to see what Sam has to say and then I'll go find us a car."

Fiona was half out of her chair when she stopped and sat back down facing Michael, her eyes searching his features. "We're going to do this all together. We bring down Card together as a team."

"I know that, Fi." He met her gaze and managed to keep his expression neutral.

He could feel her searching his face, trying to read the intent in his eyes. He waited for her to see through the carefully schooled veneer of open honesty, but it seemed he wasn't the only one running on empty, because after a moment she leaned in and gave him a light peck on the cheek.

"Pay the bill, Michael," she sighed wearily, "I just need to write down a couple of numbers." She picked up one of the paper napkins on the table and searched through her pockets for a pen.

"Fi?"

"I'm going to give Kenny Seymour's number. He's always looking out for pilots, especially ones with their own South American contacts and I'm giving him my brother Seamus's number in case he wants a way to reach out to anybody back home."

Michael felt his heart clench. She rarely mentioned her family nowadays; it was too painful. Since Thomas O'Neill had outed him as an American spy all but her brother Sean had refused to answer her calls. Even her own mother had returned her letters asking for forgiveness and understanding unread.

"You think Seamus would help them out?" he asked softly, taking up one of her hands in both of his.

"He's a good man." She bit down on her bottom lip, as she thought about her arms dealing brother back Ireland. "Now, let me write out those numbers." She forced her mouth into a bright smile, even though her eyes were filling with moisture.

Sighing, he let go of her hand and stroked his fingers down her cheek. "Fi?"

She made him wait, while she furiously scribbled down the phone numbers for Kenny Malloy. Finally she looked up. "Don't worry Michael, I'm fine. Go pay the tab and meet me outside." She got to her feet and as she turned away, she added. "And, Michael, get something nice for Sam. It's going to be a long ride to Tallahassee with that mangled arm."

He kept his eye on her as she walked out of the diner. Even in dirt and dust covered pants and t-shirt, she was a striking woman squeezing in between the tables and chairs. Keeping watch until she was outside, and in deep conversation with Kenny, Michael slowly got to his feet and began searching through his pockets for the money to pay the bill.

Taking his time, he waited until he saw that the Malloys and Inez Valdes were walking away before heading outside himself. He was useless at saying goodbye and he still couldn't think of anything to say that would express his sorrow over Aiden Malloy's death.

By the time, he joined the others, Sam was sitting slumped on a wooden bench which gave them a view across the airport parking lot. He was still showing signs of the pain that was tearing through his arm, but there was also a stupidly happy grin gracing his features.

"Hey," Jesse called out gleefully. "Sam's old lady sure knows how to kick butt. Your man Card isn't going to know what hit him."

"Huh? Sam?" Michael closed the distance fast. What could Elsa have possibly done that would worry Card? Didn't they realize how dangerous he was? If she had tried to get answers out of him-

"It seems when I didn't call for two days, Elsa got sick of waiting and she contacted Bill Cowley."

Michael closed his eyes and fought to bring himself under control. Smiling through tightly clenched teeth, he finally opened his eyes. "And what did the Head of the Intelligence Oversight Committee have to say?"

"He wouldn't speak to her at first. So, she reminded him how we handed him all the intelligence which helped him keep his job. But that didn't work either." He continued to grin with pride. "So, then she told him she was going to withdraw all her financial support and influence with the voters unless he helped her find out what had happened to me."

Michael nodded. That was something to be expected. Elsa was a wealthy and influential businesswoman with a large chain of prestigious hotels. She probably had a lot of very powerful friends and it appeared now she wasn't above using that power to protect her absent boyfriend.

"Sam, what did he say? What has Cowley told her? If Card-"

"She only called him a little while ago. When I called, she thought it was because he had gotten a hold of me."

Michael let out a breath he hadn't even realized he had been holding. He still had time to make things right.

"Hey, that's great Sam," he enthused. "So does Elsa have a place we can hole up?"

"Yeah, she's getting her people to open up the penthouse for our use at the Tallahassee Regent. There's a private elevator in the parking garage so we won't have to walk through reception, oh, and she's going to tell the staff we're her cousins from New York, which should help hide our presence."

"Okay, then," Michael answered. "I'll go get us a car. The sooner we get you out of the sun and somewhere with decent medical care the better."

He took a couple of steps away and then turned back to the group. "Fiona, you want to give me a hand?"

They walked off together side by side to search for the right car, something inconspicuous with a comfortable interior and very little in the way of security amongst the meager pickings of the airport parking lot.

"Michael?" Fiona squeaked in surprise as he took hold of her hand.

"What, Fi?" he raised an eyebrow, unwilling to explain he wanted to make the most of the time they had left.

"Nothing," she answered, obviously happy with this unusual public display of affection.

()()

Keeping within the speed limits, the journey to their hotel in Tallahassee took not quite an hour in the mid-afternoon traffic. Michael and Fiona had secured them a large dark blue minivan with a spacious interior which meant Sam could relax without the worry of being jostled by Jesse, who sat in the back seat with him.

For the whole journey, Michael drove the vehicle listening fondly to the back and forth banter of his team. He had tried to cut them out, and push down his feelings for his friends, but he had been unable to do it. They had been through so much together, it was impossible for him to regard them as disposable assets. So, he had decided to enjoy the time they had left and use it to remind himself why he was going to leave. If everything went the way he planned, Card would be dead and Fiona, Sam and Jesse would have a cast iron alibi to where they were at the time.

Following the sign posted directions to the Regent Hotel private underground parking, they stopped at the security gate and gave the names Elsa had told Sam to use. The guard handed over a sealed package, which contained a pass for the garage and four separate ones for the private elevator.

With Sam leaning heavily against Jesse, they traveled up in the fast moving elevator and, when the doors opened, they were greeted by the penthouse staff and the hotel manager.

"Good afternoon and welcome to the Regent, sir." The manager looked over the group and settled on Michael as looking like the one in charge. "My name is Harvey. I am the day manager. If you come this way, I'll -"

"Er, Harvey, my friend – Charles is feeling unwell, can you show us the bedrooms first and is there a doctor available?" Michael didn't wait for the manager to lead the way; he just pushed past and opened doors until he found a large room with a large comfortable looking bed in the center. "Here will do."

With Jesse's help, Sam made it into the room and gratefully sank down onto the soft mattress.

"Er, Mr. Jenkins, sir." Harvey trailed after the unusual group. "Ms. Dearborn instructed me to call a doctor for you. She said it was a hunting accident."

"Yes, that's right." Fiona took over dealing with the manager, edging him out of the door. "A hunting accident. So if you would like to tell the staff they can have the rest of the day off and then just send the doctor up here, we would be most grateful. Oh, and a tray of food would be nice. Anything, we're not fussy."

Finally alone, Sam gritted his teeth as Michael and Jesse eased his arm out of the old jacket. The bandage was now thick with blood and more of the red stuff caked the older man's arm, which was showing all the signs of a raging infection.

"Let's clean this up a bit before the doctor arrives," Michael suggested while trying to hide his concern.

"How about letting me lay down and waiting for some nice pain meds before you start poking around my arm," Sam grimaced.

"Nope, sorry, Sam. It's gotta be done."

()

The doctor Elsa had waiting for their call turned out to be a surgeon friend, who quickly set about making Sam comfortable and treating his bullet damaged arm. Asking the minimum of questions, he handed Fiona several bottles of pills.

"Antibiotics, anti-inflammatories and pain killers," he told her, handing over each bottle. "There's fresh dressings and bandages, too. He should be out for the next twelve hours or so. I've given him some sedation so he can rest." He paused to look around at the group of worried faces. "It must have been some hunting trip."

"It was, believe me, Doctor Green." Fiona carefully placed the medication down on the table and then led him towards the door.

"Well, I'll call back tomorrow evening unless I'm needed before then. Here's my card." He handed over a small embossed white card. "If Charles takes a turn for the worst, call me, night or day."

For the rest of the evening, while Sam got some much needed sleep, Michael, Fiona and Jesse sat in the spacious lounge, snacking on the vast array of food the hotel staff had provided. By 8:00 PM, Fiona was asleep on the couch, her head resting on Michael's chest.

Looking up, Michael nodded to Jesse, who looked like he was about to fall asleep, too.

"You get some rest, I'll take first watch," Michael suggested.

"I'm fine, man. You go." Jesse yawned and stretched.

"No." Michael replied more firmly. "I'm not tired. I'll call you at one to take over."

"You sure? I mean -"

"Yeah, I'm sure, Jesse. Get some sleep. I'll put this one to bed and then I'll check on Sam."

It was going to be now or never. By the time he finished tucking Fiona in and then checking Sam was okay, Jesse should be asleep and he would be able to sneak away. They were twenty floors up with a private elevator as the only way in. Unless one of Card's teams rappeled down onto the roof, there was no need for anybody to stand guard.

Twenty minutes later Michael stood by the elevator. Everybody was safely asleep. Nobody knew where they were. He could now only do one more thing for them all. He was sure if he dragged them along with him in his latest crusade, he would end up getting them all killed or thrown into some secret CIA facility. He knew they would hate him for leaving them behind, but if one more person he cared about died or had their life ruined because of him, he didn't think he could take it.

The elevator doors whispered open and he slowly stepped inside. He pressed the button to take him down to the ground floor when he heard the patter of fast moving feet. He stabbed the down button even harder, but he was too late and the doors were just a fraction of a second late closing.

"You trying to run out on us, Mike?" Jesse challenged, pushing the older man back against the far wall with an arm across the chest as the elevator started its descent.


	9. The Judas Goat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike & Jesse make their way to Miami to confront Michael's former training officer & friend, Tom Card.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter mentions a female OC who belongs to the Fanfiction author Jedi Skysinger. Rayna Kopec appears in Jedi Skysinger's "Asset Management" and guest stars in another one of my stories which can be found on Fanfic called "Savior."   
> For those of you who have not read either story, all you need to know is the character Rayna Kopec was a CIA Station Chief, a 'friend' of Sam Axe and was also in charge of several missions Larry Sizemore & Michael ran in Russia, Serbia, & Chechnya.

"You trying to run out on us, Mike?"

Even though he had been taken by surprise by Jesse's sudden appearance, Michael didn't fight against the muscular forearm pressing against his chest. Instead he stared calmly back into Jesse's angry brown eyes as the younger man continued to rant.

"Cuz if you are, man, I don't know whether to beat the crap outta ya myself or stand back and watch Fi do it!"

"Let go, Jesse," Michael spoke softly, his tone sounding strangely detached even to his own ears.

He guessed it was because he was already mentally cutting himself off from his friends that he found it so easy to treat Jesse's interruption as nothing more than an irritation. He had a sole purpose, a clear target in his sights and everything else was background noise. He grimaced slightly as Jesse leaned in, digging his elbow further into his shoulder.

"Let you go? After all we've been through, you think I'm just gonna let you just take off on your own? To do what exactly?"

"Tom Card killed my brother. He has to pay for that." Michael was past anger. This wasn't going to be a fight Jesse could win.

"Dammit, Mike," Jesse backed off, but only far enough to hit the stop button, bringing the elevator to a halt. "Card will get his; Sam's old lady has sicced Cowley on him. He's gonna pay."

Michael laughed at Jesse's naivety. "How do you see this ending, Jesse?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" The younger man held up a hand warily. Even though Michael hadn't moved, there was an aura of barely suppressed violence about him that was scary, especially in such a relatively tiny enclosure.

"Elsa… going to the Head of the IOC. Do you really think Card will let that stand?"

Jesse let out a slow breath and ran his hands up over his stubble covered head as he paced back and forth in the small space. Making sure he stayed out of arms reach of the far too calm older man.

"It's not only Elsa. It's all of you," Michael continued softly. "Come on, Jesse, you used to be counter intelligence. You should know this stuff. How do you see this ending, honestly? Stop thinking about how you want this to end and start thinking about what has to be done if any of you are going to get out of this alive."

Michael watched the younger man features change as the realization began to sink in. He could read the look of shock and horror on his friend's face as Jesse came to the same conclusion he had shortly after he had learned of Tom Card's involvement.

"No, NO! uh-huh." Jesse shook his head as he thought through what Michael was saying. If Tom Card had the clearance to order a jet to make a bombing run and to send out whole black ops teams to do his bidding, he could easily use misdirection and most likely fake reports to justify his actions painting them all as the bad guys.

"We just need to take a minute and think this through... We – we should go back to the suite, wake up Fiona -"

"Not going to happen, Jess." Time was passing and Michael was getting impatient. His brother's killer was eight hours away and, if he missed him in the early morning, he would have to hide out until Card returned to his hotel room in the evening.

"You're talking about killing a man." Jesse snapped. "And you expect me to just let you go ahead and do it? You're crazy."

"So what do you suggest? Because I'm leaving, Jesse, and there's not a damn thing you can do to stop me." Michael took a step away from the wall.

For months now that dark part of his soul, which had allowed him to do some very bad things for good reasons, had been growing stronger. He had already come to terms with hurting Jesse in order to save the younger man's life.

Sometimes you have to be cruel to be kind. Just like jerking a kid back by their arm to stop them running out in to traffic. You might have to put a friend into a choke hold to stop them ruining your plans to save their life.

"Hey! Hey! Wait a damn minute, here." Jesse remained guarding the control panel. As far as he was concerned, they could stay there all night if it stopped his friend doing something so rash as killing a CIA agent in cold blood. Sucking in a deep breath, he desperately tried to come up with a plan that would satisfy Michael's need for justice and yet not have his friend commit capital murder.

"Times up, Jesse. Step outta the way."

"No, wait, look, you could kick my ass or – or you can hear me out. But you can't do both and I guarantee you will want to hear what I've gotta say."

Michael paused. Maybe he wasn't quite ready to seriously hurt his friend, at least not unless he was given no choice.

"Fine, but make it quick." Michael glared.

"How about instead of shooting the sonuvabitch, you wear a wire? You'd still get to have your face to face, but without the bullets and all the fun of a nationwide manhunt afterwards. If you could get him to admit what he had done -"

Michael shook his head sadly. He had already thought of that. "When I see Card, there's no way he'll let me walk away. Sneaking through his defences is one thing, but getting out clean once I've been exposed…" He shook his head. "It won't work."

"Then let me come along as back up. As soon as Card incriminates himself, I'll take the recording straight to Cowley. You get the sonuvabitch to admit what he's done and it will be him going to jail instead of you. Think about it, man."

Michael thought about it. The plan did have merit. They had some listening equipment in the storage unit at Homestead. But it meant taking Jesse with him to Miami.

"Okay, you can tag along. But let's make it clear. When I get the evidence, you don't hang around waiting for me. You take it and then you leave."

"Fiona could -"

"No. Somebody has to stay to look after Sam... Oh and one more thing, I'm not letting anybody else die over this. So, if we do this, it gets done my way. You do what I say without asking any questions or I will knock you out and leave you behind."

"Sounds reasonable," Jesse commented, as he turned to start the elevator moving again. "So, let's go do something stupidly reckless and try not to get killed while doing it."

()()()

"So, where are we going? DC?" Jesse settled himself in the driver's seat of the minivan they had used to get them from the airport.

"Miami. Card will stay in Miami until he knows we're all dead. He always stays at the Eden Roc. We go there, find his room number and then find you a perch to act as lookout."

"How about giving Sam's girlfriend a call. She could –,"

"We're not calling anybody." Michael smiled at Jesse. He knew exactly what the younger man was trying to do and it wasn't going to work. There would be no phone calls and, just to make sure, he would have to keep a close eye on his friend at any rest stops along the way. "Just drive," he added.

"You're the boss," Jesse answered as he twisted the ignition wires together and the engine sprung to life.

"Yes, I am," Michael agreed, still smiling.

Driving out of the private parking garage and into the evening traffic, Jesse headed towards Interstate 10. Even obeying all the traffics laws, it wasn't long until they were onto the interstate and picking up speed.

"So, which way do ya wanna go?" Jesse asked. "I-75 is a straight shot, but once we hit the Turnpike, we're gonna get picked up on every plate cam at every toll gate and I'm sure someone's reported this bad boy stolen by now. Plus, if your man Card is as paranoid as you say, then he's probably got a standing BOLO out on us with FHP and FDLE."

"Just drive, Jesse, or pull over and get out." Michael replied coolly, the smile slipping away.

As much as he hated it, Jesse was right. They needed to ditch the minivan and they needed to find transportation they could be sure wouldn't be missed until morning. Michael knew he couldn't risk getting arrested now on something as mundane as grand theft auto. Fortunately, he knew just the place to find what he needed; unfortunately, that place happened to be in Jacksonville.

"Hey, you should be nice to the driver. So, do you have a plan on how we're going to sneak past Card's security? Or are you just, you know, gonna do the whole Michael Westen thing?"

Michael fixed the younger man with a hard stare. "We go to the hotel, I find Card's room number. I go talk to him and afterwards you get to take the recording as evidence to whichever authority you want to."

"Great, so long as we're clear."

()()()

The long, boring journey south was slowly driving Michael insane. As the night wore on and the traffic became lighter, they flew past the exit which would have taken them onto to I-75 and the most direct route south. Instead they were going to drive all the way across to Jacksonville, swap their ride and drive down the length of the f**king Florida coast line.

The plus was, once out of Duval County, the route down I-95 was mostly remote and unmonitored until they got to South Florida. But it was going to add an hour to the journey, an hour they didn't really have. If Card got out of his hotel room before they arrived, they would have to hole up for a whole day and his chance would be gone. Not only would they be dodging CIA, FBI and god only knew what other agencies, they would trying to stay hidden from a very angry and possibly vindictive Fiona Glenanne.

He couldn't sleep and sitting with nothing to do was only making things worse. If his mind wasn't filled with murderous thoughts of killing the man instrumental in the death of his brother, it was urging him to forget about everything except the woman he had left sleeping back in Tallahassee.

When they ditched the Minivan for a black Volkswagen Passat in Jacksonville, Michael took over the driving. As the younger man fell asleep spread out over the back seat of their new ride. Michael pressed his foot down hard on the gas pedal. Their weapons stash in a storage locker over in Homestead held everything he needed. Going there first would be pushing things, but without the listening device and a sniper rifle for Jesse, there was no point in the man snoring on the back seat being there.

As the sun began to peek above the horizon, Michael began to pray Tom Card didn't have any early morning meetings planned.

Michael brought the car to stop outside the storage locker just before 5.30 AM. "Let's get inside. You load up the car while I get ready."

Unlocking the padlock, both men lifted the heavy steel door and set about getting ready for their mission. Like all their emergency stashes, this one didn't only hold weapons. There was medical supplies, clothing, food and drink.

So while Michael took the time to smarten up his appearance, Jesse began to fill the trunk of the Passat with everything he thought they might possibly need. With the guns and ammunition loaded, he sorted through one of the many small boxes on one of the shelves and came up with the transmitter for the listening device.

"Here, you need to put this somewhere outta sight." He went over to where Michael was in the middle of getting ready for his confrontation with his old training officer.

Freshly shaved and now wearing a grey suit and plain white shirt, he looked ready for a business meeting. Taking the bug, he dropped the battery into the inside pocket of his jacket and then fed the lead down his jacket sleeve until the microphone appeared by his wrist. Using his watch strap to hold it in position, he checked out the result in the mirror.

"You got the receiver?" he asked without looking around as he continued to make sure the bug would remain unseen.

"Yeah, it's got a range of about three hundred meters, so I'm gonna have to be pretty close to pick up your conversation. You ready to go?"

Michael turned slowly and studied the younger man. "You can back out any time, Jesse. I won't hold it against you... If anything goes wrong, if -"

"I'm in this all the way and now we've had our special moment, can we please get going?" Jesse answered awkwardly.

"Sure." Michael's lips twitched into a small smile. He wouldn't admit it, but he was grateful for the company.

()()()

It was 7.00 AM when Michael Westen entered the Eden Roc Hotel. He strode confidently across the open foyer heading straight for the elevators. Dressed in his grey suit with a plain white shirt, with his hair combed and his face clean shaven, he looked like any of the other forty something year old businessmen who frequented the high class hotel.

Instead of taking one of the elevators, Michael detoured over to a side door marked as "Staff Only." After a quick check that nobody was watching, he opened the door and stepped through. Acting like he belonged there, he walked along the corridor until he reached the first unlocked empty office with a computer.

Wasting no time, he hurriedly worked his way through the computer menu until he found the hotel register. A quick check and he had Mr. Thomas Card's room details plus an extra little piece of information. Michael now knew Card had his breakfast delivered to his room every day at 7.30.

Checking his watch, Michael realized he had ten minutes to get up to the ninth floor. Leaving the office, he had to stop himself breaking into a run as he lifted his wrist up close to his mouth.

"Card is up on the ninth, room 914. You should be able to tape our conversation from down by the marina... Good luck," he added as an afterthought.

Without an earpiece, Michael couldn't hear any reply Jesse might have wanted to make. So once he was back in the lobby, he called one the elevators down and headed up to the ninth floor. Standing alone in the large mirror walled elevator, Michael's fingers twitched nervously.

This was it. He would atone for his part in Nate's death. He would face down the man who was the cause of the tragedy and make him pay. His hand strayed to where his SIG lay snug against the small of his back, held in place by the waist band of his pants.

Stepping out onto the ninth floor, Michael hurried down the hallway and was just in time to see a waitress close the door to what had to be Card's room and walk away. Reaching the room, Michael paused until the waitress was out of sight and then knocked loudly on the door.

Hearing footsteps, he stood slightly to one side so he would not be seen through the peep hole and, as the door began to open, Michael erupted into action. Smashing the door back onto its hinges with a powerful kick, he sent Tom Card flying backwards and onto the floor.

Stunned and lying flat on the hard marble tiled floor, Tom Card looked up at the man he had been hunting down and calmly uttered a greeting.

"Hello there," he said, as if being knocked on his butt by a highly unstable former trainee was a regular occurrence.

"Show me your hands, Tom." Michael reached back with his foot, closing the door behind him. All the while he kept his gun trained on his old mentor as the older man slowly shuffled backwards.

"Michael Westen, back from the dead." Card slowly got to his feet, keeping his hands in plain sight the whole time. "What are you going to do? Shoot me?"

Michael's eyes hardened and his mouth curled into a snarl.

"Hey! Hey! Listen to me, Michael, it was Grey who killed Anson. He was the one who killed your brother. He was the one who murdered Nate. He did that." Card continued to back up until he was against the balcony's glass doors.

"You ordered him to. You're responsible," Michael spat back, his gun remained unwaveringly on his target.

"I never wanted Nate dead," Card answered the accusation. "I would have never taken that shot."

"You tried to have me killed." Just standing in the same room as the man who arranged Nate's death was driving Michael insane, but he still had enough control left to hold off on shooting him.

"And that was my own personal hell. It wasn't supposed to go like that. You are like a son to me."

"You are out of your mind." Just hearing those words made him feel sick to the stomach. Father: Frank Westen, Larry Sizemore, Tom Card, a triad of evil sons of bitches.

"No, no. Michael, can't you see? We both know it is a big bad world out there. And guys like you and me: we….make….calls…. We get up in the morning and know the ends justify the means. Why do you think Anson had to go? I'll tell you why, he knew what I had going on in Yemen, in China, in Pakistan."

"You're talking about treason, Tom." The gun had dropped down to his side now, his finger outside the trigger guard. He was so tired, all the twists and turns, all the conspiracies. He hadn't stopped in six years. He just wanted it all to end. What Card had just said was enough to pass as a confession. Jesse, if he had any sense, would be on his way to Congressman Cowley's residence. It's nearly time. This will end soon.

"Michael, it might be time for you to grow up, my friend," Card spoke softly.

"You're not my friend!" The gun was back up, almost of its own volition.

"But I was and I damn well can be again. Do you think I am the only one who had things they didn't want Anson Fullerton to bring out into the open? We can do things, great things, necessary things. You and me, working together," Card paused, trying to gauge Michael's reaction. "Clocks ticking … What do you think? Can we… can we put all this behind us? Huh? Can we move into the future?"

Card had to be insane. Michael could see no other reason why the man thought he would ever work with him again.

"You tried to kill me. You came after us with a goddamn missile and a full tactical team. What makes you think I want to do anything but put a bullet in to your brain? My life has been destroyed. You killed my brother!"

Michael thrust his gun forward and his finger whitened on the trigger. He just wanted to see his one-time friend lying on the carpet with a neat little hole between his eyes and the back of his skull blown out.

"Jesus, kid, are you really this stupid? You still think this is all on me? Do you think I wanted to order Tyler Grey to take you out? I was following orders. Something you seem to have forgotten how to do."

Card suddenly turned away, turning his back on his one-time trainee. He watched Michael's reflection in the glass as the younger man tried to make sense of his prisoner's change in attitude.

"What? What are you saying? If this is just you trying to -" Michael lowered the gun and stepped in closer, making his first error and giving Card the opportunity to attack, elbowing him hard in the gut. But Michael was past any reasoning or pain. He retaliated with the butt of his gun to Card's head, knocking the older man to his knees.

"ANSWER ME!" he yelled.

After struggling to his feet, Card dropped down heavily into a comfy chair and sighed, running his hands over his head, wincing when he reached the cut caused by Michael's gun.

"They've known for years there was a clandestine organization made up of former and burned spies running off the books operations. Do have any idea how long it took to get you into place to take them down? To make you a tasty little morsel they wouldn't be able to resist?"

"You did all this? Got me burned?"

Card laughed and, if it wasn't for the gun being aimed at his head by a very unstable former asset, he would have actually found the whole situation funny. As it was, he knew he was a mere squeeze of the trigger away from death.

"No, not me. Well, not only me. I was brought into the loop when Rayna Kopec was assassinated... Please tell me you knew that was an assassination?" Card's grin grew wider and he shook his head in disbelief as he saw the look on his protege's face.

When Michael didn't answer, Card continued. "Your old boss nearly nailed them, but she made the fatal mistake of getting noticed. But she must have known they were closing in on her, because before she died, she passed everything she had gathered upstairs."

He pointed a finger at Michael to emphasise his next words. "Hey, you want to blame anybody for dragging you into all this, blame her, kiddo. It was your name she passed up the line. 'Michael Westen is in the unique position to gain employment within the organization as I have reason to believe he is already being targeted for recruitment'."

Michael shook his head in denial. He had last seen Rayna Kopec after Ireland. She had made no mention of any of this; she would have warned him. She should have warned him, given him the choice.

"You're lying, trying to save yourself." He couldn't hide the desperation in his voice.

"You wanted the truth and this is it. You had already been targeted. You had a reputation for being a ruthless sonuvabitch and always getting the job done. The plan was to let them recruit you and wait for you to bring them down from the inside. We knew you would kick up a stink over the burn notice and go after the people who wrecked your life. All we had to do was send you in and wait for you to expose all the bad little spies. But instead of sticking to destroying the organization, you went off the reservation and, pretty soon, nobody trusted you to play the game."

Card shook his head and looked at the floor. "All you had left to do was eliminate Anson. But ya just couldn't do it, could ya? You maybe ruthless, but you're a boy scout at heart."

Michael was close to breaking. If he believed Card, his own government had used him and all the people around him to bring down Anson Fullerton's organization. The enormity of it all was tearing him apart. Card looked up as he heard the hammer of Michael's gun draw back and found himself staring into the eyes of death.

"It's what you signed up for, Michael." He softened his tone. "Remember how it goes? It's all for the big picture. You sacrifice the few to save the many. How many peoples' lives have you left in ruins because you deemed that they were less important than the mission? Do you think you're more important than the agency?"

"And my brother?" Michael asked in a small voice.

"He was in the wrong place, that was all. There's no larger conspiracy. If you had done what had been expected of you, he wouldn't have been there at all. All you had to do was put a bullet in that sonuvabitch and it would have all been over. You would have been welcomed back with open arms, Nate would have been alive and all your friends would have been safe instead of on the run."

The gun dropped, hanging loosely in Michael's hand as the younger man turned away, his world falling to pieces.

Slowly, Card got up out of the chair and edged towards the door. He had managed three steps before he was suddenly flung back against the wall, a forearm across his throat cutting off his air supply. Michael's face was inches from his. The younger man's expression twisted with fury, his eyes blazing with insanity.

"None of that changes the fact Nate is dead and you tried to kill us all!"

"I tried to put you back on the right path, get you motivated to do the job. Now, if you're going to kill me get it done." He gulped as he heard the click of the hammer being draw back and then the cold steel of the muzzle pressed against his temple.

"You kill me and it will be the end of everything for you and everybody connected with you. Is that what you want? Or do you want to at least give your friends back their lives? How about the bald headed guy, watching your back from across the street? Hm...? You see, Michael, you aren't the only one who has a team."

For a long while, the only sound was Michael's breathing. Then as suddenly as he had attacked he backed away, letting Tom Card fall to the ground.

"I'm listening."

Righting himself, the older man straightened his tie and smoothed down his hair. "Let me bring you in."

"Let you lock me away without trial, is that what you mean? Or would it just be a bullet to the back of the head?"

"How do you see this ending, Michael, really? Work with me and I'll keep your friends out of jail. What do you say?" Card smirked, confident that he had won. "And yes, my team has been on you since you walked through the front door. See what I'm saying? We're a perfect match."

Michael's head dropped down and his shoulders slumped in defeat. With moisture filled eyes, he lifted his gaze just enough to look Card in the eye and he nodded. "Okay." His voice so soft the word was barely audible.

Tom Card beamed. "We should get started. There's a long list of things for us to do." His former training officer stood up straight with his hands on his hips, enjoying his moment of triumph.

"I'm proud of you, son."


	10. Forsaken

Fiona's eyes fluttered open and, with a groan, she slowly sat up and looked around. A nauseating cramping pain had caused her stomach muscles to clench tightly, stirring her from a deep sleep. Sitting up, she drew her knees up and, with her arms wrapped around her torso, hunched forward until the pain passed.

Bleary eyed, she peered around the bedroom and realized for the first time she was alone. The soft goose down filled pillows next to her where Michael's head should have been laying were still plump and pristine and the space beside her was cool to the touch. Frowning, she turned to glance at the small digital clock on the bedside table which informed her it was nearly 3 AM.

Where was he? 

Stifling another groan as her body protested at her leaving the comfort of the bed, she padded on bare feet to the door. Shaking her head, she opened the door and stepped into the unlit lounge. 

He had to be sitting up on guard duty. They were on the top floor of a hotel with a private elevator and nobody knew they were back in Florida except for Elsa. They were, for the first time in several days, completely safe. Why was he still up?

"Michael?" she called out in a soft low tone.

Getting no answer, she reached along the wall until her fingers skimmed over the light switch and immediately the room was bathed in light. Blinking until her vision cleared, Fiona stared about the empty room. The remains of the meal from earlier was still on the low coffee table, three empty cups, plus several empty beer bottles and their plates and cutlery all lay abandoned.

He must be checking on Sam.

Combing her hair back off her face, she started to cross the lounge and then came to a stop when she caught sight of her appearance in one of the many wall mirrors that flanked the room. The image of lank auburn hair surrounding a pale pinched face with puffy eyes was enough to send her back to the bedroom to freshen up. But what made a retreat even more necessary was the tiny lace panties and bra she was standing about in. With an annoyed hiss, she went back to her and Michael's room to get dressed before she risked being seen by Sam or Jesse.

Wiping her face over with a damp face cloth, she brushed out her hair and then slipped back into the jeans and t-shirt she had been wearing for the last two days. Wrinkling her nose at her appearance, she made her way back out to the living area.

Quietly knocking on Sam's door, she entered without waiting for a reply. The light was out; the only sound was Sam's snoring.

"Michael?" she whispered, peering into the darkness.

Creeping forward, she did a cursory check on their injured friend. Sam was sleeping peacefully, his bullet damaged arm wrapped in clean dressings which gleamed white in the unlit room. Biting down on her lower lip, she felt a chill run up her spine.

Where the hell was he? 

Before she could come up with an answer, her stomach clenched again, making her gasp as the muscles knotted tighter than before. Massaging her sore stomach, she left Sam's room and went to check on Jesse. As far as she could remember Jesse and Michael had been talking when she had fallen asleep. 

Maybe he said something to the younger man.

Reaching his room, she knocked and entered almost immediately, wearing a bright smile on her face as she prepared to explain why she was barging into his room in the early hours of the morning.

"Jesse, I'm sor- ry." She came to a halt and stared at the bed which obviously hadn't been slept in.

The only sign the room had been used was a faint ruffling of the bed covers where he must have sat down at some point and the bag he had brought with him off Inez's aircraft. Her heart began to pound in her chest.

This was bad, very bad. Where had they gone?

Leaving the door to Jesse's room wide open, she stormed back across to Sam's room and flung the door open hard enough that it hit the wall with a bang.

"Where the hell are they?" she demanded loudly.

Apart from a single cough followed by a complaining moan, Sam didn't stir, and at that moment she remembered the sedation and the strong painkillers Elsa's doctor had administered. Wherever Michael and Jesse had gone, they obviously hadn't taken the time to tell Sam.

They had gone out, that much was obvious. But why? To get guns? To do a perimeter search? It didn't make sense.

Fiona's mind was now working furiously as she marched purposefully back into the living area and then out to the lobby and the elevator. Pressing the call button, she waited for a couple of seconds then jabbed at it even harder a second, then third time. With her arms crossed over her chest, she waited impatiently, but after a minute she'd had enough and pressed her ear up against the cold metal door; there was nothing. No whirr of cables or rumbling of an approaching car. Now there was no doubt in her mind that Michael and Jesse had sneaked away without her. 

Why else would the elevator be jammed?

Closing her eyes she paused, breathing deeply through her nose, her mouth fixed in a harsh straight line. He had deliberately jammed the elevator. He had gone off, taking only Jesse with him as back up. 

What the hell are you up to, Michael? 

Another sudden cramping pain left her gasping to breathe. 

And not only had she been left behind, she had eaten something that had upset her stomach.

Walking slowly back into the lounge, she reached for the hotel phone and stabbed her index finger down hard on the key which would put her through to reception. Letting out a sigh, she rolled her shoulders back and forth as she tried to release some tension and compose herself.

"This is Ms. Jenkins in the penthouse. The elevator appears to be stuck." she informed the woman on the other end of the phone.

"I'm sorry Ms. Jenkins I will notify maintenance right away. I'm sorry for the inconvenience. Is there – ?"

"No, it's fine." Fiona pinched the bridge of her nose as a headache began to build. "Just get it fixed as quickly as possible."

Slamming the phone down, she stared at the desk top, her eyes narrowing as they spied a delicate glass vase. With an angry swipe of her hand, she sent it shattering onto the marble floor. 

He had promised they were a team! 

A metal statue flew across the room, smashing into one of the many wall mirrors, sending even more glass shards across the floor. Breathing deeply she stared at all the shattered glass; it was a clear reminder of the state her life was in.

The lying bastard had done it again! Left without a word. Coward! She was going to find him and kill him slowly. She was going to make him wish he had never been born.

Returning to her room, she searched around the floor looking for her shoes. Her mind was whirling from one thought to the next, anger and frustration at him running off fighting with fear and concern for his safety. 

Somewhere out there Tom Card and God only knew how many other CIA agents he had in his pocket were looking for them all.

With her shoes on, she delved into her purse and pulled out her favorite side arm. Checking the clip, she slammed it back into place and headed back to the lounge to await the call that the elevator was back in service.

Sitting and waiting wasn't helping her state of mind and pacing the floor space, her boots scrunching on all the broken glass, only made her feel worse. Throwing her purse down onto the couch, she went searching for a broom and dust pan and brush to clean up the mess she had made. She was kneeling down to sweep up the pile of broken glass into the dustpan when another cramping pain hit. She took a moment, placing a hand over the taunt muscles and rubbing at her stomach as she tried to ease the pain.

It was ridiculous, all she had had to eat was a tuna salad and it had tasted delicious.

As the pain dulled, Fiona got to her feet and slowly stretched and rubbed at her back, which was also beginning to ache. Dropping down onto the couch, she laid her head back and tried to sort through her thoughts.

Michael had been so angry over the betrayal by his old mentor; she knew he was no longer thinking clearly. He had been on edge, almost out of control….And, at that moment it hit her: he had gone off to kill Card. That had to be it. There was no other reason for him to sneak away.

It was like a punch to her already very sore gut. He had somehow managed to talk Jesse into going with him as his back up and left her behind to nurse maid Sam. All the old fears of abandonment began to rise, the similarity to what he had done before back in Ireland fuelling her anger. For a brief moment, she wondered if he had drugged her like he had all those years ago. But before the thought could take hold, she dismissed it. She knew what waking up from a drug induced sleep felt like and the intense cramping pains she was suffering from now were nothing like being slipped a mickey.

Swiping at her eyes, she got to her feet and, after a quick look at the clock which now showed 04:16, walked over to the kitchen. 

What she needed was a good strong cup of tea. Then once she got the call that the elevator was fixed she would – 

she paused, her heart dropping like a stone. She didn't have a clue where to start looking. 

Damn him!  
If he had gone to kill Card, and if he succeeded in executing the sonuvabitch, there would be little hope for him. He would be mercilessly hunted down by his own government. He needed a team backing him up. He needed her!

Filling the kettle, she switched it on and then stared pensively at the pot waiting for it to bubble and boil. "Dammit, Michael," she sighed, grabbing a cup and then searching for the teabags. "Why d'ya take Jesse wid ya?"

That was the twist of the knife he had driven into her heart. He had chosen to take Jesse with him when he should have chosen her.

Pouring the boiling water over the teabag, she added a large teaspoon of sugar before giving the brew a stir and tossing the teabag into the sink. With the cup in her hand, she walked slowly back to the lounge feeling miserable and trapped. Slumping down onto the couch, she sipped at the brew unable to stop the hurt continuing to grow.

Hadn't she always been supportive? She would have gone with him; they could have run together. Why the hell did he always think she needed a white knight to keep her safe? She could take care of herself! Wasn't she the one with all the contacts? It had been a friend of her parents, a sweet old man who had enabled them to escape Panama, who had died so they could get away.

A tear trickled down her cheek and she brushed it away. She wasn't going to cry, not this time. Placing the empty cup onto the table she leaned back, letting her head tilt up so she could stare at the ceiling. 

Aiden Malloy, he had been like a fixture in her parents' house for the first eight years of her life. Sweet, charming and nearly always laughing, he had taught both her and Sean how to throw a punch and that sonuvabitch Card had gotten him killed.

Fiona's eyes fluttered open and closed, just as she began to succumb to the need to sleep the trill of the phone snapped her awake. Jumping to her feet she crossed the room at a run.

"Mi-!"

"Ms, Jenkins?" Fiona's heart sunk. It was the receptionist.

"Yes?"

"Your elevator is working now, ma'am. I hope you haven't been inconvenienced too much by the delay."

"No, not at all. Thank you."

"Is there anything else –?"

"No, that's fine, thank you." She ended the call, grabbed up her purse and moved with a purpose to the elevator and couldn't travel down to the parking garage fast enough.

The last hope of chasing after him was gone, they had taken the minivan. 

Well of course they had, it stopped her taking it and meant if she wanted to leave the penthouse, she was going to have to steal her own ride. Not a big problem, but it all added to widening the gap between them.  
Damn you to hell, Michael. I swear when I find ya, I'm going to kill ya meself.

It was useless to stand staring at the very secure parking garage, with all the cameras and the guard on the gate there was no way she was getting transport from there. She needed to sit down and think things through and come up with a way of catching up with the two runaways before one of them did something that would end his life and get the other a lifetime in prison.

Don't fer one minute think you're getting outta this undamaged, Jesse Porter, I'm gonna think of sommit special fer you.

Back upstairs, the luxury of the penthouse made her feel even worse, Michael had deliberately left her trapped in a gilded cage. At least this time he hadn't drugged her. She tried to raise a small smile, but it didn't work. Somewhere out there he was walking into danger. Tom Card had trained Michael, taught him most of his spycraft. He had access to all Michael's field reports and pysche evaluations.

"Ahh!" This was the worse one yet, almost dropping her to her knees. 

What the hell was going on? Had Michael noticed something was wrong and that was why he had left her to babysit Sam?

A quick glance at the clock told her it was nearly five in the morning. she had no idea where the fugitives had gone and they had to have had at least a ten hour head start. Feeling utterly drained and with her stomach still uncomfortable, she collapsed onto the couch and curled up in a ball.

Oh, why didn't he wait to see what Elsa's call to Cowley produced. Or he should have at least taken her with him instead of Jesse…. She was better with a gun, she knew his every move... But she hadn't seen this move one coming….. She would wait for the pain to ease and then she was going to drag Sam out of his bed and….

"Hey, sleepy head, it's lucky you were never in the military. Ya get hard time for fallin' asleep at your post."

Fiona sat bolt upright and glared at Sam Axe.

"You're up," she announced, a very small part of her was pleased to see him up on his feet and looking less like death warmed up. Another part of her was highly disturbed that she had fallen into such a deep sleep that she hadn't known he was up until he was almost on top of her.

"No fooling you, is there? Where's Mike and Jesse?" He looked around the room.

"They've gone, bailed on us," she told him as she got to her feet. "I think Michael has gone to kill Card and Jesse has gone with him," she continued. 

This was good. With Sam up on his feet, he could help her find Michael.

"Jesus!" Sam sank down. "You sure?"

"Well, they're gone and they didn't bother to let either of us know. So what do you think?" she snapped back, grabbing up her purse she stared angrily at him. "C'mon, Sam we have to-"

"Hey, slow down, Tinkerbell, and just let me think for a moment, will ya?... When did they leave? How much head start have they got on us?"

"I don't know, maybe twelve hours... I fell asleep." Fiona added the last bit in a quieter tone, embarrassed at her unusual lethargy.

"Twelve hours? That's not good. Mike will be back in Miami by now. In fact, he's had time to -"

"Miami? You're sure that's where they've gone? Then we need to get moving. Michael's going to need help getting out of the country and I'm going to kick his ass every inch of the way to -" Fiona was ranting again.

"Hey! Calm down. Get me the phone. I'm gonna call Elsa. I'm not up to an eight hour drive especially with you behind the wheel."

Fiona picked up the phone and as good as threw it in his direction as she paced nearby. As far as she was concerned, this was a delaying tactic. But the thought that Sam was somehow colluding with Michael to keep her out of the way was dropped almost as soon as it popped up.

Listening to Sam sweet talk the latest love of his life was enough to turn Fiona's stomach at the best of times.

"I'm going to get some air," she announced brusquely, hoping Sam hadn't noticed the sweat beading on her forehead.

Twenty minutes later, he was off the phone and standing next to her on the terrace, looking down on the busy street below.

"I've got us a ride. Elsa is getting her G6 gassed up and it's gonna collect us in two hours. All we have to do is get back to the airfield we were at yesterday. I've already called us a cab. Elsa will pick up the tab."

"Good." Fiona didn't trust herself to speak. The fresh air had helped the nausea, but her stomach still felt like she had taken a beating.

"You okay, little sis?"

"I'm fine, Sam. I must have eaten some bad tuna. Let's get ready to go. I suppose with the state you're in, you expect me to do all the heavy lifting."

Moving quickly so the older man couldn't keep up, Fiona set about gathering up all his medication and dressing before collecting their sparse belongings all together.

Just as she finished piling up everything by the elevator, the phone began to ring. "That will be the front desk to say the cab is here."

She picked up the handset and, at the first softly spoken word, she paled.

"Fiona."

"Michael?" Her own voice came out as barely more than a whisper.

"I'm alright... I'm sorry I couldn't tell you... Let you... Look, it's gonna be alright. I want you and Sam to lay low."

"Michael, what have you done? Where are you? We're on our way to Miami. We'll -" Her heart was racing, she felt both elated and scared stiff.

"No! Stay where you are, you're safe. Please, Fi, honey, do what I say... I'll see you soon... I promise... Bye, Fi."

"Michael!" she howled into the mouthpiece as the connection was broken.

()()()

Hundreds of miles away, Jesse Porter was sat in a small, windowless room handcuffed to a sturdy rectangular table. The back of his head still ached from the blow it had taken when the two burly men dressed in cheap suits had body slammed him to the ground.

Doing his best to get comfortable while sitting in the hot, stuffy room, he prepared to play the waiting game. He had, after all, been a counter intelligence agent. He knew how the game was played. From the tight steel band around his wrist reminding him he was a prisoner, to the drab overheated room designed to weaken his spirit, he expected he would be facing hours in this room without food or water, until his captors deemed he would be ready to talk.

He wished he knew exactly what it was Michael had done. Was Card dead? It had sounded like the sonuvabitch was spinning out a tale, but he hadn't caught the end of the scene because he had spotted Frick n' Frack moving in on his position and had been forced to bail. He did however have one ace in the hole: a nice little recording of Tom Card admitting to off the book deals in Yemen, Pakistan and China. Unfortunately, he'd had to ditch the recording before being picked up. At the moment, the incriminating evidence was hidden amongst the dense foliage of one of the many shrubs that surrounded the Eden Roc hotel.

He had no way to be sure, but it must have been at least three hours after he had first been left in the room that the door swung open.

"Mister Porter, sorry to have kept you waiting." The agent was a dark skinned woman with slicked back hair pulled into a tight ponytail. She released him from the handcuffs and stood back. "Follow me."

"I'm being released?" Jesse asked as he got to his feet. This was unexpected. He tried to think what it could mean.

She laughed, but it was more sarcastic than friendly. "Not exactly. Follow me, please." She opened the door and stepped out into a narrow corridor.

"Whoa, wait a minute. I promised my mom I'd never to go off with strangers. So who are you and where are you taking me?"

"You don't need to know my name, Mister Porter, and as to where I'm taking you – I am escorting you to a briefing for your assignment."


	11. Between the Devil & the Deep Blue Sea

While Jesse was sitting chained to a table in an interrogation room somewhere in Miami and Fiona was standing out on the penthouse terrace of the Tallahassee Regent hotel waiting for Sam Axe to finish sweet-talking his girlfriend, Michael Westen was standing face to face with Tom Card, resisting the urge to give the smirking bastard a third eye.

"I'm proud of you, son."

As soon as Card had said those five words, Michael's trigger finger had twitched. It was killing him, but Card was right. If he did what every fiber of his being was demanding, he would destroy the lives of everybody he cared about. He had to maintain control and find another way to take the murdering sonuvabitch down.

So instead of emptying the clip from his SIG into his old mentor, Michael forced his mouth into a toothy smile while pushing down the hate and the bloodlust which coursed through his body. Reluctantly, he engaged the safety catch and returned his weapon to the waistband of his dress pants.

"So, what now?" he asked softly, his eyes never leaving Card as the older man cautiously crossed to where his breakfast was laid out on a small table made of glass and metal.

"Come, sit and we'll talk about our future while I eat."

Michael didn't move. He wasn't sure he was capable of sitting down calmly over a table laden with food, and sharp cutlery, while discussing working with the man who had caused him so much grief.

An image of Nate's broken and bloody body swam before his eyes and his mother's hate filled accusations rang in his ears. His hand twitched again as his heart cried out for him to take revenge.

"Hey!" Card whistled shrilly. "There's no time to day dream. Take a seat and pin back your ears."

Michael flinched at the noise, but quickly pulled himself together. Now was not the time; revenge was going to have to wait. He had no doubt that Card had people standing outside the door to the room ready to take him down if he put one toe out of line. So with a tight rein on his emotions, he made his way smoothly across the room to take the seat Card gestured to.

"I won't be your mercenary, Tom. You can throw me in prison, but it won't change a damn thing."

Card reached over to pick up a croissant. "How about Porter? Are you ready to have him thrown into the cell next to you?" he asked.

His old mentor tore the pastry into three pieces and continued. "And what about your girlfriend and – the guy with the chin? Where are they, by the way? We're covering the hotel and the marina, so either they were never here or they've cut and run."

"Jesse's done nothing jail worthy and the rest of my team are – none of your business," Michael answered stiffly.

Card took his time, wiping away the crumbs from his mouth with a napkin before picking up a thin manila folder and tossing it casually across the table onto the younger man's lap.

"When you chose to involve Cowley, and I know you were behind the call that got the head of the IOC panties up in a bunch, I had this file put together."

Michael opened the folder and skimmed the report that detailed how he and his friends murdered a CIA tactical team and a Panamanian militia unit during a raid on suspected drug traffickers. There was plenty of evidence to show that he had gone rogue and was a danger to national security with the others acting as his willing accomplices.

"It was a bit of a rush job I admit, but by the time the good Congressman comes back with more questions, I'll have a nice fat dossier filled with all your misdeeds: communication logs, grainy satellite images and stacks of vague intelligence reports, which I can have point any way I chose."

"This?" Michael closed the folder and tossed it back onto the table so it landed on Tom Card's breakfast plate. "It's all a pack of lies."

"But can you prove it?" Card smirked back, wiping his scrambled eggs off the stained cardboard without missing a beat.

Michael raised his eyebrows in disbelief. Had Card just admitted to handing falsified documents to a Congressman?

Satisfied he had made his point, Card sat back. "I don't think of you as my mercenary, Michael. I want you to know that... I want you to work with me... I'm even willing to make you a peace offering."

The older man waited, but Michael didn't answer.

"Agent... Dani …. Pearce," Card elaborated.

"What about her?" Michael asked warily.

"She's in a lot of trouble... You could help her, if you agree to help me with a little problem first."

"Last I heard, Agent Pearce was in Mumbai, chasing down counterfeiters."

"Yesterday evening, I got wind of an emergency meeting." He tossed another file over to Michael. "Here are the highlights. A terrorist cell has taken over three hotels in the city of Mumbai. Staying in one of those hotels was a team of CIA fraud investigators headed up by your ex-Agency contact."

Michael shook his head. "It's a sixteen hour flight; we'd never get there in time. The Indian army will get everybody out."

"There are already reports of hostages being killed in one of the hotels and I understand the Indian security services are refusing permission for us to send in a team to retrieve our people. They claim it is a strictly internal matter."

Michael bit down on his lower lip, as he realized the seriousness of the situation. If the terrorists realized they had CIA agents amongst the hostages – it didn't bear thinking about.

"There is a man in Mumbai holding valuable intelligence... I need that information. If you bring him out for me, there will be a place on the return flight for Pearce. It is up to you, Michael. Prison for you and your team and anybody else I can hang charges or you do me this tiny favor and help out the woman who nearly destroyed her own career helping you out."

Michael stared at his ex-friend and mentor, his mind rapidly weighing up his options. He knew full well that he had no way out. He had put his head in the noose as soon as he kicked down Tom Card's door. He should have just shot the bastard and taken his chances.

Jesse's situation was in flux until he made the decision whether or not to sell his soul. Could he let the younger man rot in a prison cell? He still didn't know if Jesse had been able to get the evidence they needed.

Sucking in a deep breath, Michael turned his thoughts to the rest of his team. Sam and Fiona were safe for now, but for how long? As soon as Fiona woke up and realized he had gone, she would come looking for him. Sam knew where Card liked to stay when in Miami and they both knew his present state of mind. So, it wouldn't take them long to work out where he had gone and come after him. He glanced at his wrist watch and bit down on his lip. They could already be on their way back to Miami.

Closing his eyes, he took a moment before getting back on subject. Card was watching him closely. He couldn't afford to be caught day dreaming.

"So, who's this man and what does he have that's so important?" he asked.

Card sighed and pushed his chair back a little so he could straighten his legs. Michael felt uneasy as the older man stared back at him, his expression cold and calculating as he decided how much information to pass on.

"All you need to know is that until my asset is safely on board a flight to the US Agent Pearce is on her own."

"If it's just a case of getting him on a flight, why don't you –?"

"Because now I have you and Porter to go for me."

"Leave Jesse out of this. You know me. I stand more chance sneaking in and out alone. Besides, Jesse was a field agent for what? A year? He has no experience in -" .....He was through dragging his friends into his fights. If he could convince Card to leave the younger man out of it –

"No, the job requires a two man team. To be honest, it probably requires a full tactical unit, but that's not going to happen. It will be you and Porter, two burned spies acting alone. If the rescue goes all to hell, you and your friends are on your own."

Michael stared pointedly at the documents outlining the mission, hoping he could delay answering while he thought through his response. Card couldn't have known they were back, nor that he would turn up when he did.

"You had this mission outlined before you knew I was back. So, why don't you go with your original team?"

"My original team didn't include Michael Westen. Take it as a compliment... Actually take it any way you want. Doing this job shows me you're willing to work with me and it allows you to protect your friends from a nationwide multi-agency manhunt... So what d'ya say, son?"

There was that word again: "son." Frank Westen was dead, Larry Sizemore, too. Tom was the last of the unholy trinity of self-serving evil bastards who each had wanted their own version of what was "best" for him. His family was dead to him now. Nate was gone, his mother had as good as disowned him, so what possible use did he have for this last father figure?

Michael pressed his back against the chair to stop him reaching for his gun and laced his fingers on his lap to prevent himself picking up a nearby butter knife and stabbing it into Card's eye.

As if he could tell what the younger man was thinking, Tom Card edged his chair further back before beginning to speak. "I know you want to fight me. It must have been hard on you to put away your gun without shooting me. I understand all that, Michael. I really do, but..."

Blinking away the memory of Nate bleeding out on the pavement, his brother's scared eyes staring up at him, pleading with him to make it right….

"But, deep down, I know you understand everything I've done is for the good of this country. I had the trigger pulled on a couple of bad guys and we no longer have to roll the dice on a coupla really bad conflicts. You know how that goes, dontcha Michael?"

…..Or the look of grim determination on the face of Aiden Malloy as he forced his bullet riddled body closer the men trying to kill his family…

Michael choked back the rising bile and managed to slowly nod his agreement. Over the years, he'd heard the same argument from Larry Sizemore, Vaughn Anderson and Anson Fullerton. Unsanctioned kills, under the table deals and, pretty soon, you thought you knew better than the government you signed up to serve.

…..How many of the agents Tom Card trained had he corrupted over the years? There had been a time when he too would have done anything his mentor asked without question.

"I'll have to speak to Jesse, explain how this works." He was going to have to convince Tom Card he was on his side while he got enough evidence to get the crazy bastard locked up for the rest of his life.

"Before you do that, I'd like you to make a call." Card smiled. "To let the rest of your team know to stand down, that we're all friends now." He held out his cell phone for Michael to use.

Michael took the phone, his eyes narrowing. "You want me to call them so you can trace the call?"

Card wasn't fazed. He remained relaxed, wearing a patronizing smirk. It was obvious to anyone with a brain that he had won. Michael had no moves left on the board. "I want you to call them so they don't do anything stupid. Your girlfriend is well known for her volatile nature." His former mentor leaned forward, the good humor fading from his eyes. "I'd hate for something to happen while you're away because your friends hadn't got the memo about our arrangement."

"Fine, I'll make a call." Michael agreed. Getting to his feet, he pulled open the balcony doors. "I'd like a bit of privacy, if you don't mind."

"Make the call. I'll finish up and then I'll take you to meet up with Porter." Card was happy again. Getting to his feet, he headed for his bedroom to finish getting ready for a day at the office.

Michael stood looking out over the marina filled with expensive yachts. The sky was overcast, the sun not yet high enough to burn away the cloud. A gentle breeze brushed over his face, cooling his skin.

Gripping Card's cell phone tightly in his hand, he tried to think of the best way to handle the call. There was a strong possibility that Sam and Fiona would no longer be at the hotel. Noting it just after eight as he glanced at his watch, he remembered the wire he was wearing. Card hadn't searched him or mentioned anything about catching Jesse with a recording of their earlier conversation. Had Jesse managed to conceal the evidence before he was captured? He couldn't allow himself to hope, not yet, not until he had gathered enough evidence to put in to the hands of Bill Cowley.

With a sigh, he steeled himself to make the call. He just had to hope they were still at the Regency and understood his message.

"Fiona," he breathed out her name. He knew it was her before she had a chance to speak a word.

"Michael?" Her own voice came back as little more than a whisper.

"I'm alright," he blurted and then took a breath to steady himself to do what was necessary. "I'm sorry I couldn't tell you." He stopped again, closing his eyes just for a second. He wanted to say "I didn't mean to let you down." But all that came out was, "let you."

He had to pull himself together; he was giving Card's people far too much time to find the location and get a team there. "Look, it's gonna be alright. I want you and Sam to lay low."

"Michael, what have you done? Where are you? We're on our way to Miami. We'll -" He could hear her panic and the hint of building anger.

"No! Stay where you are, you're safe. Please Fi, honey, do what I say... I'll see you soon... I promise... Bye Fi."

"Michael!"

He had heard the feral howl, but ended the call without another word. He could imagine Card sitting in his bedroom, already on the phone to whatever contacts he had close to Tallahassee. By his own estimation, his friends had less than thirty minutes to get out of the hotel before they were faced with a tactical team.

()()()

Fiona slammed the phone down, her eyes wide. "He said we should stay here, that we were safe and then he called me honey!"

"Damn," Sam growled and looked wildly about the penthouse checking they were leaving nothing behind. "We've gotta get out of here now!"

Fiona nodded and, without a word, rushed back to call the elevator up to their floor. As soon as the doors slid open, she threw their bags inside and held the door open for Sam to join her.

"You think you can keep up?" she asked, not liking Sam's pallor or the little beads of sweat trickling down his forehead.

"With you? Not a problem, sister." He tried to grin, but the effort was too much.

"Good, cuz I'm not dragging your sorry carcass all the way back to Miami." She drew her H & K handgun, pointing it at the doors as they slid open.

The parking garage was clear. Returning her gun to her purse, Fiona grabbed up the heaviest of the bags and left Sam to carry the other in his left hand while he keeping his injured right arm close to his body.

"When I was looking out from the terrace, I saw a small cafe across the street from the hotel. It's an ideal spot for you to watch out for the bad guys while I go find us a ride," Fiona spoke as she led the way out onto the street and into the cool winter air of Northern Florida.

"From across the street? You don't think they'll see me?" Sam huffed.

"You can sit inside. Besides whoever is coming for us isn't going to be looking for us outside the hotel."

Reaching what turned out to be a small coffee shop, Fiona dumped her bags down next to Sam and fished out the last of her money from her pockets.

"It should be enough for a coffee," she told him, her eyes focused on the front of the hotel.

"Don't take too long finding the ride," Sam grumbled. "And nothing flashy." But Fiona was already on her way outside.

Walking along the pavement, filled with pedestrians, most of them on their way to work, Fiona couldn't help but think about the phone call.

Michael would have never used a code unless it was the only way to get a warning out. The endearment only told them he was in deep trouble and that they needed to run. It didn't tell them where he was, or what trouble he was in. She guessed it had to do with Tom Card. The code word also didn't tell them what had happened to Jesse. Regardless of the danger, they had to get back to Miami to find the answers.

Suddenly she found herself caught up in a crowd of workers on their way into a large modern building. Pushing through the men and women, bumping into as many of them as she could while she forced her way through, she came out of the other side of the crush with a cell phone and two wallets.

Smiling at her cunning, she dropped the phone into her purse and quickly checked the wallets, removing the cash and counting out a total of ninety six dollars.

Not bad for a few minutes work. Thankfully, Michael's various little side jobs had helped to keep up her pick pocketing skills.

Reaching the end of the block, she turned a corner and discovered the buildings parking lot full of cars which nobody would notice gone until after five o' clock in the evening.

For once Fiona ignored the high performance cars and the newer models or high end vehicles. As she walked casually along the rows, she pretended she could hear Michael's voice in her ear, lecturing on the right type of getaway vehicle to avoid the attention of law enforcement.

A ten year old Toyota Camry caught her eye and within two minutes she was driving it away, passing by the unmanned security gate. She had no idea where the guard had gone and couldn't have cared less.

As she came to a stop outside the coffee shop, she saw two large SUVs with blacked out windows pass her by before screeching to a halt at the front of the Regent Hotel. Gasping as another cramping pain hit her stomach, she closed her eyes and breathed through the pain until her muscles relaxed. If she'd had the time, she would have visited the Regent's chef and force feed him every plate of tuna salad she could find.

Staying hidden in the car, Fiona opened her eyes in time to see men in suits come out of the vehicles and rush into the hotel. Running her tongue over suddenly dry lips, she checked her watch. It had taken these men only slightly more than fifteen minutes from Michael's call to turn up at the hotel. What the hell have you done, Michael?

Knowing she wasn't going to find an answer to her question sitting in a stolen car on a Tallahassee street, Fiona climbed out of the Toyota just in time to help Sam with the bags.

Moments later, Fiona quietly slipped the Toyota into the stream of rush hour traffic. As she drove, keeping one hand on the steering wheel, she used the other to reach into her purse and pull out the "borrowed" cell phone.

"You'd best call Elsa and tell her it's time to get out of Miami."

"This clean, Sticky Fingers?" Sam queried as he took the phone, turning it over in his hand.

Privately he marveled at Fiona's skills. In less than ten minutes, she had stolen a phone and a car and god only knew what else she had managed to stash away in her purse.

"It won't have been reported missing yet, if that's what you mean," she answered.

Satisfied, Sam wasted no time putting in the number to Elsa's burner phone. "Hey, baby, er…. we've hit a little problem at this end... It might be for the best if you take that little trip outta state we talked about."

"Sam, what's happened?"

"I can't get into it now. I'm sorry..." He blinked away a stray tear.

"I'll leave soon. I've just got -"

"No! You have to leave right now. I'm sorry, Elsa baby, but -"

"It's alright, Sammy. I'll cancel the meeting I - I'll go stay with that girlfriend I told you about. I'll leave once I've made a call."

"Thank you," he sighed into the phone.

"My pilot called... He's on his way. I'll make sure there's a car waiting for you when you land." He heard her suck in a deep breath. "Sam, take care... Come back to me in one piece."

"Sam," Fiona interrupted, tapping the face of her watch and reminding him about spending too long on a call.

"I've gotta go now, sweetheart. I'll see you soon... Love you."

"I love you, too, Sammy."

He had never felt this way about a woman before and he was sure he was going to lose her over all this mess. Elsa Dearbon was a high class lady. She had men lining up to take her out, Rich, powerful men who didn't get involved in shoot outs and wouldn't drag her into CIA investigations.

"Elsa's ride will be waiting for us on time. She's going to take a trip to DC stay with a girlfriend who's married to a civil rights attorney," Sam told Fiona.

Fiona laid a hand over Sam's and spoke softly. "She'll be safe."

Sam nodded sadly before closing his eyes and resting. He was pretty sure this flight back to Miami was going to be his last chance to rest for some time.

()()()

Following his escort into yet another drab windowless interrogation room, Jesse took the only seat in the room and looked up at the female agent who had barely spoken a word to him during the long walk through whatever building he was being held in.

"Get comfortable, Mr. Porter. You maybe here for a while," she smirked, turning away to leave him alone with his thoughts.

"Hey!" Jesse called out. "My mouth, it's a little dry... Any chance of a Diet Dr. Pepper? Or some water, if that's all you've got." He smiled as her back stiffened at his words before she stalked away disappearing around a corner.

Settling back to survey his new surroundings, Jesse noted the room was much like the one he had been held in before; however, the lack of handcuffs was a pleasant change as was the open door which allowed him a view of the hallway, a view which unfortunately included a large muscular man in a tight fitting suit.

Outwardly, Jesse worked on looking calm and unconcerned by his treatment. He was pretty sure this extremely light touch wasn't going to last for much longer and knew better than to show any sign of weakness that his captors could use later to break him.

Inwardly, he was worried about not only what had happened to Michael, but also what Michael might have done. Ever since Tyler Grey's admission that Tom Card was the one who ordered Anson's death and in the process got Nate killed, Michael had become one scary SOB. The cool headed spy who always had a plan had changed into a man running head long into one disaster after another. He should have never let Michael out of that elevator.

The sound of footsteps in the corridor had Jesse sitting up and looking out of the door in time to see the guard spring to attention. Seconds later, Jesse was on his feet, his mouth hanging open as he stared with disbelief at the sight before his eyes.

Michael with a smile on his face standing facing Tom Card, the older man patting the younger on the arm before shaking his hand. Then as Card turned to walk away, Michael moved calmly towards him.

"Mike! What the hell is going on?" Jesse covered the distance to the door in three long strides only coming to a stop when the guard held out a hand palm outwards to stop him approaching.

"It's okay. Let him go," Michael spoke to the guard and, to Jesse's surprise, the man stepped away.

"Jesse, we need to talk." Michael entered the room and closed the door behind him. Just by looking at the older man, Jesse could see that Westen was in full CIA mode. "Card has a job for us – and I said yes."

"What? Are you crazy?" Jesse wasn't sure if it was his hearing that was going or if Michael had truly lost his mind. Card tried to kill them!

"I've got all the details. I'll fill you on the flight." Michael ignored Jesse's outburst, speaking as if it was all a done deal.

Lowering his voice and stepping in until his face was inches off Michael's, Jesse hissed into his friend's ear. "So, what? We're Card's lap dogs now? What happened to getting the goods on that piece of scum and handing it over to Cowley?"

Michael pushed him back, his features set in hard uncompromising lines. "We're doing the job because it's the only way to save Agent Pearce's life."


	12. Revelations

()()()

Voice over:

Whether you're a spy, or an ex-terrorist with an interest in high explosives, you take care of the things you need to help you survive.

You check your guns, making sure all the parts are in good working order. You do the same with your primary vehicle; a busted tail light might get you pulled by local law enforcement, but a blown engine gasket might get you killed.

But far more important than both guns and cars is your own body and mind. You spend any down time between missions looking after your greatest weapons. You fuel your body with the right foods, you take vitamins and you exercise. You learn to listen to all the little aches and pains from old injuries and you catch illnesses early because you can't risk being at anything less than perfectly tuned for action. You hone your fighting techniques, practice your driving skills and study every manual, trade magazine and newspaper you can get your hands on because knowledge is power.

In short, you learn to listen and to respond to your body's needs because you never know when you're going to have to rely on it to get you out of trouble. 

()()()

As soon as they had climbed on board Elsa Dearbon's G6 private jet, Sam Axe had slumped down onto one of the luxurious white leather seats and, with his head thrown back, had promptly fallen into an exhausted sleep. Though he had tried his best to hide how much pain he was in, Fiona had seen the tension in his shoulders and the way he had gritted his teeth every time their stolen car had hit a bump in the road.

So for once, she kept her mouth closed and, instead of berating him for being lazy, she had leaned over and fastened his seatbelt for him. Then, in an act of unusual kindness, she got a blanket from one of the cupboards and spread it out over his knees, all without disturbing him from his sleep.

As the powerful jet engines began to roar, Fiona took her seat. Resting her head back against the headrest, she hoped to get some sleep herself. But her trouble mind refused to let her relax. On the short drive from the hotel to the airfield, she had begun to doubt her previous diagnosis of food poisoning. She knew what eating bad tuna did to her body and, apart from being doubled over in agony, she had shown none of the usual signs of food poisoning, just painful cramps followed by a dull dragging ache as her muscles tried to recover. So if not bad tuna, what was it?

Staring blindly ahead as the jet soared upwards on its flight back to Miami, her right hand unconsciously began to explore the inside of her left arm, a few inches above her elbow around the site of her last contraceptive implant. For the last couple of hours, a cold feeling of dread had been creeping up from the deep recesses of her mind. A distant, and worrying, memory of her life back in Ireland, back when she had been nothing more than an innocent Catholic schoolgirl before she had met her first love and had the need to use contraceptives; a time when she suffered from severe stomach cramps on a monthly basis.

The memory had left her with a dry mouth and a cold sinking feeling in her chest. The only possible reason why she was having these pains was if the implant in her arm was no longer working. There had been stories years ago about how they could move or stop working, but she'd never had any problems and she had always been reassured that the chances of anything going wrong was near impossible. But if it had stopped working, it also meant she had been having unprotected sex and that meant –

She lifted her arm, studying the site where the nurse had placed the last implant, probing the skin with her fingertips searching for the tiny device. All the while her mind was frantically reminding her of all the damage her arms had taken in recent months: cuts and scratches from fights or ricocheting bullets, being grabbed hold of, the skin and muscles of her arm being pulled and twisted. Was any of it enough to dislodge an implant?

Gulping nervously, she thought of all the times they had made love, or had had sex with wild abandon. Had it all been with nothing to stop a pregn- - She bit down hard on her lip, unable to finish the thought.

Dropping her left arm down when she was unable to locate the tiny device, her right hand fell over her stomach, kneading at the sore tight muscles. If the implant had failed sometime during her stay in prison, why was she only getting these pains now? If it had failed since –?

Another unwelcome memory hit her hard and a vision sprung to mind of visiting her brother Sean and his wife, of sitting in their kitchen watching Rosanna run her hand over her flat stomach.

"Am pregnant again," she had announced with a soft dreamy smile. "It's too early fer a visit ta the doctors, but I've been getting these little pains fer the last day. I got 'em befer when I fell with Sian."

No! No! NO! 

Tears sprung into her eyes; she couldn't bear to think about that possibility. It was the wrong time. They weren't prepared. She would have to tell Michael! Oh god, he would go ballistic! He had made it very clear over the years that he didn't want children and with everything that was happening -. 

She closed her eyes and swallowed, trying to quell the rising panic. She could do nothing about it until she got hold of a preg – until she could do a test, so until then she wasn't going to think about it. Besides it wasn't possible, was it?

Of course, regardless how much she didn't want to think of the possibility, now the thought was there, she couldn't stop herself. Would it really be so bad if she was? Her mother had managed just fine, raising seven children in what had been effectively a war zone. Was Miami any worse than Northern Ireland had been in the sixties and seventies?

And then there were her brothers, Liam and Colin were unmarried and, as far as she was aware, had no children. But Sean had managed to raise four beautiful babies, the eldest was now attending university in Dublin, and Seamus had eight at the last count. Both men lived dangerous lives and had more than their fair share of enemies, yet nobody had ever been so stupid as to come after them through their wives or children.

The voice of the pilot coming through the intercom, informing them they were about to land, pulled her back to the present. Looking across to where Sam remained slumped in his seat, Fiona got wearily to her feet and went to wake him.

"Sam, we're coming into land."

"Huh?" He looked up at her through bloodshot eyes.

"We're landing. You might want to get ready in case we have a welcoming party waiting for us." She handed him a spare handgun and then returned to her seat as the plane began to dip.

Breathing through another cramping pain, Fiona remained tense as the plane landed and taxied along the runway towards a row of hangars.

"Relax, Tinkerbell," Sam growled. "Elsa said she'd have everything arranged for us. We're going over to her hangar and look." He tapped the window. "That dark blue Caddy, that's one of hers... We're home free, sister."

As soon as the jet came to a stop in the center of the large hangar, a member of the ground crew rushed over with a set of steps. Climbing out, Fiona looked around, her hand never straying far from the handle of her gun which was nestled in the small of her back.

"I told you, we've got nothing to worry about," Sam huffed as he joined her. "C'mon, we need to find some place to hole up, and then start looking for Mikey."

In the car, Fiona and Sam found an envelope with two sets of keys, one for the car and the other a set of house keys. Along with them was a note containing the address of a house on Palm Island, which Elsa informed them she thought would be safe for them to use.

"I don't know what you do for these women, Sam. In fact, I don't want to know... But whatever it is, just keep doing it, please."

"Elsa's the one and only for me now." Sam sank down into the passenger seat. "I mean, I can only think of three other people who would go to this much trouble for me."

Fiona grinned for the moment, her troubles pushed to the back of her mind. "Are you counting me as one of the three?"

Sam swallowed and then, with a perfectly straight face, replied. "Nah, Mike, Jesse and I thought maybe Maddy. I mean, she's always been there for me, giving me a place to stay."

"Good. Because I definitely wouldn't go to any trouble for you at all," she grinned as she started the engine and drove out of the hangar, both of them a little more relaxed and happy now that they were back in Miami and had somewhere to stay. Soon, they would start the hunt for Michael and Jesse.

()()()

They drove along the MacArthur Causeway and onto the bridge which led onto Palm Island and then followed the road around the island until they reached the safe house. It was on the inner ring of houses with no access to the ocean. Surrounded by tall neatly trimmed hedges, Fiona drove onto the wide circular gravel-covered driveway to get her first view of a Mediterranean style, two-story home; its freshly painted exterior shone brightly under the Miami sun.

Forcing her attention away from the house, she focused on the other car that sat on the driveway outside the attached double garage.

"Did that note say anything about us sharing the secret safe house?" Fiona asked, as she continued to scan the property for signs of a trap.

"It's Elsa," Sam answered softly nodding to the open front door and the woman stood just inside.

"You did tell her to leave town, didn't you? We don't have time to babysit…" Her words trailed off then as Elsa came out of the house, rushing towards the car. Fiona brought her gun out as a strange muscular man stepped into view from behind the hotelier.

"Hey! Slow down, I don't think he's CIA," Sam snapped worriedly. "I'm pretty sure he works for Elsa. He looks familiar; he's one of her security people."

Showing a complete lack of caution, Elsa rushed over to the car and, as soon as Sam had the door open, she was helping him out and fussing over his gunshot arm. "I'm sorry, Sammy, but I had to stay. Doctor Green called and told me what had happened and I had to see you."

"It's not safe," he started to say, his eyes focused on the man standing behind Elsa.

"I know; you told me. That's why I brought David with me." She broke the hug and gestured for the stranger to come forward. "This is David Geary, he's part of the Dearbon security team. He was in Special Forces and has worked protection details over the world."

Geary stood and waited as Sam and Fiona surveyed him. He remained unblinking under their scrutiny. They could both see he was ex-military and obviously knew how to handle himself.

"He has worked for me for nearly ten years," Elsa huffed. She wasn't used to having her decisions questioned like this and it was unnerving for her to watch as her man silently communicated with a much younger, attractive woman. Even though she knew there was nothing but friendship between the two, it still rankled. Finally, it seemed Sam and Fiona came to an agreement as they both relaxed their guard.

"Let's get inside." Fiona made the call. Looking over to the garages, she asked. "We should get the cars out of sight."

"I'll do that," Geary replied.

"I'll help." Fiona smiled back at him, not about to leave a stranger alone with their transport. "Sam, you get inside and check that it's secure."

"It's secure," Geary commented.

"We'd just like to be sure, that's all," Sam answered with a smile.

With the cars out of sight in the garage, Fiona followed Geary back inside. Entering through the kitchen, she took her time to check out the ground floor and was surprised at how little there was to see. The place had been gutted: fresh wiring hung down between the bare metal studs, most of which were still awaiting drywall.

"It belonged to a couple who bought it cheap as a foreclosure. But they ran out of money before they could get all the work done. I picked it up for just over half its real value." Elsa stood in the door way leading to a large open lounge, which surprisingly had a few pieces of furniture scattered about. "I haven't decided what to do with it yet."

Fiona continued to look around. It had the potential to be a lovely family home. Her hand strayed to her stomach. If she was pregnant, if she had Michael's baby, would they ever get to have a house like this? Her mind began to rampage with thoughts of a home life with a baby. Silently cursing, she quickly shut down those thoughts. She didn't even know yet; besides, if she was, they wouldn't be living in a house like this.

She sucked in a breath; she didn't feel up to dealing with Elsa and Sam or the bodyguard. She needed some time alone. "I'm going to check out upstairs," she called out and, without waiting for a reply, headed upstairs.

She was half way up what looked like a brand new wooden staircase when the next cramping pain hit and she gasped and nearly fell on the stairs. With her head spinning, she gratefully accepted the hand that took hold of her arm and helped her down the stairs.

"You injured?" Geary asked.

"No, a stomach bug, that's all."

"What's up, Fiona?" Sam came out of the lounge to see what the noise was about.

"Nothing, I told you. I'm fine." She gritted her teeth, angry and embarrassed at the attention she was getting.

"It's not food poisoning," Sam answered, standing aside so Geary could bring Fiona into the only room with halfway decent furniture. "You get bit by anything in the jungle?"

"No!" Fiona snapped back as she was eased down into a chair.

"I'm calling my doctor to check on Sam, he can look you over, too," Elsa announced firmly reaching for her cell phone. "No arguing." She glared at them both as she began to dial.

()()()()

Michael hadn't given Jesse the chance to argue or question his decision to work a job for Tom Card. He had bulldozed the younger man into following him from the interrogation room and out into the bright mid-morning sunshine with a mixture of talk of saving the life of Danni Pearce and the sheer force of his personality. Accompanied by CIA guards, Jesse had thankfully had the sense to keep control of his temper and his mouth shut on the short walk to the large black four-door sedan waiting for them.

Once inside, they sat in silence at opposite ends of the back seat as the driver pulled away from the curb to take them to the plane that would fly them half way across the world. Letting out a long exaggerated sigh, Michael spread out further on his side on the car. Relaxing his head back against the head rest, he let his hands lay lightly on his thighs. Then, after a quick look into the driver's rear view mirror to make sure his hands were out of the chauffeur's eye line, he began to let his fingers tap in a seemingly random manner against his leg.

Meanwhile, at the other end of the seat, Jesse Porter stared out of the window on his side of the car. Sitting upright with his arms crossed defensively over his chest, wearing an expression which clearly showed how unhappy he was with not only their present predicament, but also with the man who had apparently gotten them stuck running ops for a murderous rogue operative.

Sensing Michael's movements, Jesse glanced over at his companion, biting down on the angry comment which wanted to burst forth. How the hell had the man gone from wanting to kill Card to becoming his errand boy? How much of the conversation between Card and Michael had he actually missed when he'd cut and run?

Michael shifted in his seat again, his fingers still restlessly tapping away on his leg. Couldn't the guy find one damn position and stick to it? It was like sitting in the car with a three year old. Westen had to be pretty keyed up about some – – Hello…

The tapping wasn't a random action. Michael was sending him a message.

Dot dash dash …. dot dot dot dot... dot... dot dash dot... dot... dot dash dot...

Long fingers moved rapidly as the older man tapped out the same message over and over again, waiting for the younger to notice what he was doing.

Where… Jesse translated, his eyes narrowing as he read the rest of the message…. is the recording?

The two men locked eyes just for a second and then Jesse's fingers began to send out a reply.

Dropped in bushes at hotel.

Michael gave no sign that he had read the message, but the rhythm of his tapping changed.

Trust me, I will explain.

Jesse turned away to look out of the window, seemingly ignoring his companion, as his fingers replied.

You better.

Michael wanted to continue the discussion and explain why he was acting the way he was, but he knew it was too risky. A longer discussion might alert their surveillance to their method of silent communication. He was pretty sure the driver couldn't see what they were doing, but there was always the risk Card had cameras hidden in the vehicle along with the bugs that Michael was positive his old mentor had secreted in the cars plush interior. So for now, all he could do was rely on Jesse's loyalty, and pray that the younger man hadn't had enough of his games.

They continued to make a point of ignoring each other as they pulled into the airport, driving straight over to a large hangar at the end of the field. Under cover, the building was a hive of activity as a C37-A jet was being prepared for take-off.

"I see working for a homicidal lunatic has its perks." Jesse had leaned in close to Michael, so only the older man heard had his dig.

Apart from clenching his jaw, Michael gave no indication he had heard the comment. Instead, he picked up the pace a little, forcing the agent leading the way to extend his stride to stay in front.

They were escorted into a back room filled with benches and equipment lockers at the far end and at the other end a small office.

"Your flight leaves in an hour," their escort informed them. "Everything you need is over there. Your weapons are already on board."

Walking further into the room, they both took note of the dark-colored suits on hangers and plain white shirts. There was also underwear, socks, shoes and even belts. Jesse looked at the clothing, noting that all the labels had been removed.

Michael was holding onto one of the three cardboard covered files. "Legends, for the first leg of the mission," he informed his colleague. "We're sales executives for an I.T company looking to expand our import business into the Indian market."

Jesse turned away from the clothing to lift the thickest of the files, "When in fact we are there to extract a thief who has been stealing Indian military tech."

"A nice easy job, before we get to break through police lines and take on entrenched terrorists and save the day," Michael smirked.

"This is crazy..." Jesse was now looking at the blue print for the hotel. "So how are we sneaking inside a building surrounded by an army and filled with armed men?"

"One thing at a time, Jesse. We have to get Card's man first. Let's concentrate on that."

"You seriously gonna to do Card's dirty work for him? After what you know he's pulled?" Jesse dropped his voice to a hiss.

Michael breathed deeply, before taking the file out of Jesse's hands and dropping it onto the bench with the others. "We do Card's job first and then we get Danni out. I'll come up with a plan once I can actually see the situation on the ground. There is always a way inside... You just have to be prepared to take some chances."

Pulling off his jacket Michael spoke again, this time quietly without moving his lips.

"Think you can distract the guard on the door long enough for me to make a call?"

"Call?"

"No time for Q and A, Jesse, a simple yes or no."

"Yes, then," Jesse answered, already checking out the guard standing just outside the door.

They remained silent as they got changed until there was a ripping sound. "Oh, man, jeez. This – this here is one of the reasons I quit CIFA." Jesse waved the shirt which had a torn sleeve in Michael's face before, without a pause, turning to the guard, getting up into his face and complaining loudly about the cheap garment. "Can't you guys pry the wallet loose and cough up little cash for some decent threads?"

Michael stopped listening as soon as Jesse had the guard out of the door. Moving quickly, he ran silently across to the office. Working quickly, he disconnected the hand set of the office phone and then unscrewed the back of the computer sitting on the desk. Moments later he had the phone connected to the computer and was set up to make an untraceable call.

"Hey, Barry, I've gotta little job for you."

"Michael? Should you be calling me?" Barry sounded worried, though that was nothing unusual for the money launderer.

"Probably not, but I need you to do me a favor. I need you to go to the Eden Roc and look in the bushes at the front of the building. You'll find a – it looks a bit like an I-pod. I need you to take care of it for me. You know, put it somewhere safe."

There was a pause where all Michael could hear was Barry's breathing. Finally, he answered. "And why are you aren't you asking one of your more capable friends to do this task?"

"Sam and Fiona are busy. Listen, Barry, this is really important. You're going to have to get hold of some gardeners overalls and search the bushes and you need to do before we get any rain. I've no time to explain now. Can you do this favor for me?"

"Mike, man, I would never ask you to do my taxes, so why are you mixing me up in your spy business?" Barry whined.

"Because I've got nobody else to ask," Michael admitted. "Please, Barry."

"Is this one of those,'do this or we're not friends things' again, Mike? Cuz if it is—oh, okay, fine, I'll do it." he reluctantly agreed.

"Thank you." Michael breathed a sigh of relief. "I'll owe you big time for this."

"Yes, you will."

"Now are we sure about this one?" Hearing Jesse talking loudly, Michael pulled the wire out of the computer and quickly screwed everything back into place. "I mean, look at some of your guys... You should speak to the Agency about buying in some bigger sizes."

Satisfied the office looked no different from before he entered, Michael ran back to where the rest of his clothes lay and quickly finished getting ready. By the time Jesse was back at his side, he was sat doing up his shoe laces.

"So, are we ready to go?" Jesse asked as he buttoned up his new shirt. "You got everything?"

"Yes," Michael smiled, picking up the files. "I think we have all the intel we need for now."

()()()

It was lunch-time in Miami and, under normal circumstances Barry Burkowski would have just been climbing out of bed and preparing himself for the day ahead. After a shower and an hour in front of the mirror, he would have been on his way to either a business meeting or maybe just an afternoon of sunning himself pool side at one of the many South Beach hotels.

But on this particularly hot and humid lunch time, he was dressed in a stolen gardeners uniform he had taken from the back of a City of Miami Public Works truck, picking up trash from outside the Eden Roc hotel and cursing the day he had ever met Michael Westen.

Finally, with a sigh of relief, he found what he had been sent to collect or at least he hoped it was, because it was the only I-pod type device he had seen. Dropping it in with the trash, Barry took a quick, furtive look around and then scurried away.

What he failed to notice, as he had stripped off the uniform before throwing it in a dumpster, was the well-dressed man who had been following since he walked away from the hotel.


	13. In Sixteen Hours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Michael Westen and Jesse Porter were stuck in a sort of limbo, flying in a CIA sanctioned private jet across the Atlantic Ocean on their way to Mumbai, for everybody else left behind, life went on...

"I'm calling my doctor to check on Sam. He can look you over, too," Elsa announced firmly, reaching for her cell phone. "No arguing." She glared at them both as she began to dial.

Fiona shot Sam a look which told him in no uncertain terms to stop the love of his life from dragging even more innocent people into their problems. But much her annoyance, he just stared blandly back at her as Elsa's voice sounded loud and clear in the near empty house.

"Adam? Oh, thank god you're at home. I need you to come over to Palm Island... Yes, we're at that fixer-upper I bought... Sam's here with me... Er, um, yes. He's hurt himself... His arm... As soon as you can... Thank you, Adam, we'll be waiting for you." She closed her cell phone and turned to face her guests. "Adam Carrick is a close family friend. He'll keep quiet."

"Yeah, Fi, he cleaned me up after 'becca Lang nearly blew me up in the Glades," Sam added. "And he owes me a favour. So there's nothing to worry about. He's a good guy."

With one more killer glare, Fiona got to her feet and walked out of the living room and into the kitchen. She didn't need to hear what a good guy this latest doctor was or how he was a family friend from way back. All she could see was one more person who knew where they were hiding and one more person Tom Card could use against them.

She dragged her fingers through her hair. She couldn't get rid of the image of Aiden Malloy just as he turned away, his hand reaching into his jacket pocket, the look of grim determination on his face as he lit the fuse on the last of her home-made grenades. She attempted to blink away the memory, swiping at her eyes to clear her vision of those last awful moments.

"Fi," Sam had followed her. "My arm needs treating and you're sick. Elsa is just trying to help."

"I said, I'm fine now." Fiona kept her back to him, as she took back control of her ever shifting emotions. "We shouldn't be involving all these civilians, Sam. It's too dangerous."

"Dangerous? I'll tell you what's dangerous, sister. Neither of us are at the top of our game, Mike's off doing God only knows what and he's taken Jesse with him. I say we've gotta get ourselves back in shape before we go looking for trouble."

Before Fiona could answer, the sound of car tires on the driveway outside caught both their attention. Even as Sam was turning to go towards the door, he saw Elsa's security consultant had everything in hand.

"All clear," David Geary announced to the room. "It's Doctor Carrick, Miz Dearbon."

"I've already told you, David, it's Elsa. I think this situation calls for less formality than in the office," she gently scolded.

"As you say, Miz Dearborn."

Crossing the room, her high heels clacking on the concrete floor, Elsa went to greet her old family friend and physician, with both Geary and Sam following close behind.

Fiona however held back. The thought of being examined was causing an unusual feeling of dread. There was a part of her that didn't want an answer to what was wrong. Normally she feared nothing, but her right hand strayed to her left arm rubbing over the skin inside her elbow. 

Food poisoning? An exotic insect bite? Or p-? She bit down on her bottom lip, while her eyes searched for an exit.

She needed space to think, to calm down and get her thoughts in order. Somewhere out there, Michael was hunting down Tom Card with only Jesse for back up. Jesse was good, but she wasn't convinced Michael would listen to the younger man. If Michael confronted Card, she was positive it would end in bloodshed. 

Suddenly, she didn't want to be there any more. Leaving the kitchen, she covered the open space to the staircase without being seen.

"Hey, Adam," Sam greeted the newcomer warmly.

"Sam, still getting into trouble I see." The doctor sounded older than Fiona expected and when she peeked over the bannister, she saw Adam Carrick was a white haired man in his late sixties or maybe even seventies.

"Just a little bit of muscle damage, doc. Nothing that a coupla weeks of R n' R won't fix."

Fiona smiled. Sam was doing his best to play down his injury in front of Elsa. God help him when she got a look at the state of his bullet shredded bicep.

"Well, how about you let me be the judge of that? Let's get you sitting down and I'll take a look under that bandage."

The voices faded as they walked into the living room.

Satisfied she had at least some time to herself while Elsa's friend looked after Sam's arm, Fiona took the time to explore the rooms on the upper floor. She had to do something to try to take her mind off all that was happening.

Just like downstairs, the floors were bare concrete, but the walls were all in place and the bedrooms and bathroom were sectioned off. There were four bedrooms, a large master, two slightly smaller rooms and the last one more the size of a small office. The three larger rooms each had been outfitted with a bed, the mattresses still wrapped in plastic. Elsa had been a busy girl during their flight from Tallahassee.

Entering one of the smaller bedrooms, Fiona crossed the room to stare out of the large window which overlooked the back of the property. There was high, secure fencing marking the boundary, a freshly laid lawn and a big kidney shaped hole over to one side where one day a swimming pool would be installed.

"Fi, this is Adam Carrick. He's a close friend of Elsa's." The sound of Sam's voice made her turn away from the view and face the door and the two men standing there.

Fiona studied the elderly doctor and nodded a greeting, before glaring at Sam who took the hint and backed out of the room, closing the door behind him.

"So, Miss –?" Dr. Carrick walked further into the room.

"Just Fiona is fine." She offered him a stiff smile.

"Fiona it is then. Sam mentioned stomach pain?"

"Yes, I think I may have eaten some bad tuna." She still held out hope that was the answer.

"Any other symptoms?"

She shook her head, "No, I slept through – I've been sleeping more than usual." She had slept through Michael leaving and Sam coming into the living room at the Regent penthouse.

"So fatigue and stomach cramps." He placed his bag on the bed. "No vomiting or diarrhoea?"

"No, – well, I've had a couple of bouts of nausea, feeling dizzy more than sick."

"Mmm, so, let's have a look at you. Sam said you've been abroad, in the jungle? Do you think you could have been bitten by anything? Or eaten, drank anything?"

"No, not that I'm aware of, and I ate and drank the same things as everyone else in the our group."

"So no, ice in your drinks, salads washed in the local water?"

"No."

"You mentioned bad tuna, but you ate it all? Sam said-"

"It didn't taste bad, but it was the last meal I had, so -"

He pursed his lips as he studied her. "Take a seat. I'll check you over and take some blood if that's alright? And we'll go from there."

He listened to her heart and lungs and made her lie down and put the stethoscope to her stomach. He pressed down on various parts of her belly, asking if it hurt anywhere, and then drew off a vial of blood.

"Think you can pee?" He held out a test tube.

Her mind went instantly to where it had been hovering for the last few hours.

"I can't be pregnant. This is a waste of your time. I have an implant." She waved her arm in his direction.

He seemed taken aback by her outburst, but gestured for her to show him her arm.

"Let me look." She sat as he probed her arm much the same way she had done herself. "Well, I can't locate it, but that doesn't mean it's not there. I noticed you've some recent scarring on your arms?"

"I've had a bad couple of months."

"Do the test and we'll go from there. I'm not just checking for a pregnancy."

()  
()  
Five Minutes Later  
()  
()

 

"Well, Fiona." The doctor smiled down at his patient. "It's very early days, but you are definitely pregnant." He dropped the test strip into a waste basket and his latex gloves followed.

"Pregnant?" Fiona swallowed thickly, a feeling of nausea rising up from her already sore stomach. She was sitting on the mattress, her back against the wall and her knees drawn up towards her chest, her eyes filling with tears at the news.

"That's what the test says." Dr. Carrick's smile was becoming strained as he watched the woman before him crumble. But he pushed on, falling back on his professional training.

"I'm afraid I can't tell you how far along you are without further tests. I couldn't hear a heartbeat. But the test I used is very sensitive, so that's nothing to be worried about. It just means you're not that far along. What I'd like to do is come back in a few days' time and I'll take some more blood to make sure your hormone levels are going up."

"What about -?" She winced as her stomach clenched.

"The cramping pains you're experiencing? They're most likely due to your body reacting to the rising pregnancy hormones."

"You're sure?"

"Positive. They'll settle down in a few days. -" He smiled and began packing his bag and, as he packed, he continued to talk.

Fiona heard the sound of his voice, but was unable to make out the words due to the sound of blood rushing through her head. Pressing the heels of her hands against her tightly closed eyes, she tried to bring order to the thoughts rampaging through her mind.

…..This sort of thing had never happened to her before, not in her highly fertile twenties or her thirties; she was always so careful. So why on earth did it have to happen now? No, the doctor was wrong, the test he did was wrong and the blood he had taken to run some more tests would either be wrong, too, or would prove her point that the first test he did was wrong. She couldn't be pregnant...

"Fiona, do you understand what I'm saying to you?"

She removed her hands and opened her eyes to stare blindly ahead. She could hear the doctor's frustration at her lack of response, but she didn't care. She was still trying to process. She had suspected, she had even dared to hope, but now hearing it confirmed… It was all so dreadfully real. What had she been thinking?

There was no way she was capable of bringing up a baby. What had possessed her to even consider the idea? Her mother raised seven children, had spent nearly half her married life pregnant. But everyone knew Maeve Glenanne was capable of doing whatever she set her mind to: birthing babies, shooting guns and, by all accounts, she could cook a meal for nine and build a car bomb to take out a passing army patrol all at the same time.

She was not her mother. Besides, Maeve had had her family around her and Patrick Glenanne may have been one of the IRA's top bomb makers, but when he was alive he had been no Michael Westen. Michael had enemies who wouldn't hesitate to use a child as leverage.

Her sister-in-laws who were raising the next generation of Glenannes had a support system surrounding them, family members who would die to protect them or rain bloody hell down on anyone who tried to lay hands on them. Michael had run off yet again, leaving her with a mess to clean up, and who did she have? Could she drag Sam into protecting her and a baby? Put Elsa at even greater risk? How much more could that woman take before kicking Sam to the curb?

She sniffed, fighting back tears which threatened to flow.

"You need to rest and drink plenty of water. Dehydration would be very bad for you and the baby and I'm going to leave you a prescription for some vitamins. Once we confirm this in a few days' time, I'll set you up with an obstetrician."

They were in hiding, Michael was off stalking a rogue CIA agent, Sam was injured, it was all on her to keep them safe and he wanted her to visit an obstetrician? Why not put an advertisement in the Herald too while she was at it? Or, ta hell wid it, jus' put a call through ta Tommy O'Neill or better yet Grayson Miller, save tham tha time o' hunting her and her baby down.   
She wasn't going to cry. She couldn't afford the luxury of falling to pieces. She was going to -

"Fiona?" The doctor's sharp tone broke through her rampaging thoughts, but by the time she looked up he was gone.

She placed a hand over her stomach, pressing down trying to feel a connection to the life growing inside her. A disappointed frown marred her features when she felt nothing. She wasn't a natural with children or babies. Even with her nieces and nephews, she'd kept her distance, only holding their squirming little bodies when they had been thrust into her arms.

Closing her eyes, she rested back. There was nothing she could do about it now; it was done. All she could do now was figure out a way of making it work out. Taking slow deep breaths, she thought through what steps she needed to take.

By the time, she heard footsteps on the wooden staircase coming in her direction she knew what her first move was; she was going to find Michael.  
()()()()()  
Meanwhile in another part of Miami...

Madeline...

After Nate was murdered, Madeline Westen was sure she was never going to smile again. But today, everything had changed. For the first time in months, her heart felt lighter and her face actually ached because of the bright sunny smile that she just couldn't get rid of.

Yesterday, the ex-Mrs. Ruth Westen had knocked on her door and had given her a reason to carry on. Little Charlie Westen, who she had thought was gone from her life forever, was back. It may be only for one or two weeks a couple of times a year at least for now. But it didn't matter because her ditz of an ex-daughter-in-law had a kind heart and was giving her a second chance.

So, instead of spending yet another day mourning the death of one son and abandonment of the other, she had gone to ZooMiami with Ruth and Charlie. Tired, but incredibly happy, Madeline unlocked her front door and went inside.

The phone was ringing and she quickly made her way over, dropping her purse on the floor as she grabbed the handset before the caller could hang up.

"Hello!" she answered breathlessly. "Michael?"

"No, I'm sorry, Mrs. Westen… Madeline, it's Michael's boss, Tom, Tom Card. I was hoping to have a word with you. Is it alright if we talk now?"

"Er, well," She looked out of the front door to where Ruth was walking up the path holding Charlie in her arms. "Yes, of course."

"Thank you, Madeline. First, I want to say I realize how hard the other day must have been for you and… and I just want you to know I feel your pain."

"Thank you," Madeline sighed and she gestured for Ruth to make herself at home. "Why have you called? Is something wrong?"

"It's probably nothing, but there's been a glitch in our communications."

Madeline felt her heart begin to thump. Michael had promised to call her every day and, when he hadn't, she had blamed him for breaking his word. But now, what if he was hurt?

"Has something happened to Michael?"

"No, no, there is absolutely no reason to believe that. I actually wanted to know if you'd heard from him," came Card's reassuring reply.

"No, he said he would be unreachable until he got back."

"Right..." Card paused, then as if he was imparting a secret, he lowered his voice. "I'll go off the record for a second... I used to leave an emergency phone with my father when I knew I was going to be out in the field for a particularly long stretch, – couldn't have been more against the rules, but it's family right? You and Michael don't have anything like that, do you?"

"No." She wished they had. He could have done that for her.

"Really?" Card pressed.

"No."

"It's very important I get in touch with him. No special arrangement? What about his friends? Do you have a way of contacting them, an emergency number? A meeting place?"

Madeline took a deep breath and looked across to where Ruth sat on the couch. Charlie was standing on her legs, trying to jump up and down while she held his hands. Maddie felt a lump in her throat.

"Mrs. Westen, it's important." Card interrupted her thoughts.

"Sorry, no, we had no special arrangements. When Michael was away, years ago I used to wait for a call, or a postcard, anything. Eventually, I learned to live without the postcard. That way I was never disappointed."

"Mrs. Westen, everything is going to be okay." Card sounded so sincere and Madeline wanted to believe him. "If you hear from him, or Fiona Glenanne, or Sam Axe, please give me a call."

"I will... Goodbye Agent Card."

"Mrs. Westen."

She put the phone down and stared sadly at the counter top. Michael was missing again and this time even the CIA didn't know where he was.

"Gramma!" Charlie squirmed in his mother's arms and continued to call out loudly. "Gramma!"

Instantly, Madeline pulled herself together and, when she turned to face her grandson, her face was lit up with a happy smile. "What do you want, sweetie? Come and show me."

Charlie ran towards her as fast as his little legs could manage with Ruth trailing behind him. "Everything alright, Madeline?"

"Yes, dear." Charlie stopped in front of her and raised his arms up, tugging on her long purple over-shirt. "Here, you show me what you want." She lifted Charlie up and, with squeals of excitement, he made a grab for the bottles of juice she had bought the day before for just such occasion. "Which one, honey?"

He pointed to the red one, the strawberry juice.

"That one?"

He nodded eagerly and, while Maddie continued to hold her grandson, Ruth mixed a small amount of the juice with water and snapped a lid onto the plastic cup.

With Charlie back on the floor, Ruth stood twirling her ponytail with her fingers, watching her mother-in-law pour out two glasses of iced tea.

"Why don't you come visit with me and Charlie back in Vegas? Just for a while, it would be -"

"Amazing?" Madeline's lips twitched.

"Yes, amazing." Ruth grinned and sipped her tea.

Madeline thought about it. A trip to Las Vegas would get her away from Miami and being with Charlie helped keep her mind off what Michael might be doing. Taking a sip of her own beverage, she couldn't think of a single thing she had left tying her to this place.

()()()()

Barry...

Barry Burkowski was in dire need of some relaxation and several large minty mojitos. Ever since Michael Westen's late morning phone call, Miami's premier money launderer had been feeling a steady rise in his blood pressure.

So, to make up for the indignity of having to perform manual labor and the sheer stress of being dragged into the dangerous world of Michael Westen, he was making his way to his favorite health spa. A massage, followed by a deep cleansing facial and a manicure would help him mentally decompress before his first meeting of the day.

The I-pod like device he had retrieved from the bushes outside the Eden Roc was still in his pants pocket, as he hadn't yet come up with the perfect place to hide it away. It was all very well Michael asking him to do these little tasks, but the man should at least have given him a clue about want to do next.

As he reached his destination and his foot was just stepping over the threshold of Elysian Spa, a strong arm wrapped around his shoulders and directed him away from all the relaxing treatments waiting for inside and instead forced him in towards a large beige Crown Victoria sedan waiting at the curb.

Forced into the back of the vehicle, Barry's day went from bad to plain disastrous when he saw who was twisting around in the drivers seat to face him.

"Barry," the man's wide toothy grin caused caused him to cringe away. "It's been a while."

()()()()

Back on Palm Island...

Sam paused outside the room that Fiona had claimed for her own, his fingers brushing over the door handle as he prepared himself to step into what he suspected was going to be the equivalent of facing down a Category 5 Hurricane.

He wasn't a stupid man. He had been a Navy SEAL Commander and, during his many years in service to his country, he had been on countless missions which had frequently called for him to lead his men into danger. As a good team leader, he was used to watching over his men and spotting when something wasn't quite right with one of them.

He was also used to paying attention to women and, although if anybody were to ask him he would never admit to thinking of Fiona as anything more than an annoying, marginally psychotic little sister, he wasn't completely blind to her femininity.

He had first become concerned back in Tallahassee when he had managed to walk right up behind her while she slept. He should have never been able to get so close to her. Under normal circumstances, Fiona had the reactions of a feral cat. He had nearly fallen out of bed getting up and hadn't made any effort to be quiet. When he entered the living room of the penthouse suite, he should have found her wide awake with a gun pointing at his head.

The mention of eating some bad tuna hadn't convinced him one little bit. He knew the symptoms of food poisoning. He'd spent a lot of time over the years overseas in Third World countries and he'd had his own bouts with bad food and bad water during that time. Fiona wasn't anywhere near as sick as she should have been.

No, he had his own idea what was up with Ms. Glenanne and, even though the doc hadn't actually come out and said what was up with the lady upstairs, the orders to see she got plenty of rest and the prescription for folic acid had removed the last of Sam's doubts. So now he stood nervously outside her door wondering what the hell he was going to say.

And what the hell she was going to do to him when he said it.


	14. Mumbai, Miami & In The Skies In Between

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time difference: Mumbai is ten and a half hours ahead of Florida time. So while Dani Pearce was enjoying her breakfast on the balcony of the Golden Palace Hotel in central Mumbai, Michael Westen and Jesse Porter had been arguing in a Tallahassee hotel elevator.

Mumbai…  
The previous day...

Every morning Dani Pearce woke up at five AM and slipped into her gym clothes, took a bottle of water from the mini fridge and left her hotel room to travel up one floor to the well-equipped gymnasium on the twenty third floor. After an hour of exercise, she would return to her room for a long refreshing shower, before room service arrived with her continental breakfast at 06:45.

While most of her staff liked to eat together in the first floor restaurant, Dani preferred to have breakfast alone sitting out on her private balcony where she could watch the sunrise and catch up on news from the US by reading through a two or even three day old copy of the New York Times or Washington Post. This quiet, well-ordered ritual helped set her up for the rest of the day working in the bustling, overcrowded city.

The loud crackle of automatic gunfire coming from the hallway outside her room was not part of her daily ritual and brought her instantly to full alert. She didn't have to think, as her mind and body had been honed by years of active field service to react to danger. Rushing back into her room from the balcony, she had grabbed her purse and, as the door handle rattled, she looked around desperately for somewhere to hide.

Lying flat in the narrow gap between the ceiling and the top of her wardrobe, with the gun she kept in her purse in her hand, she watched as two masked men armed with assault rifles burst through the door. She remained motionless, barely breathing, as they ransacked her possessions pocketing items they considered of value before discarding the rest of her belongings over the floor before leaving. 

From her position pressed flat between the top of the wardrobe, she was unable to see out into the corridor, but she could hear angry voices barking orders and the frightened cries of the hotel guests, who had still been in their rooms, being rounded up and forced downstairs.

Finally all noise ceased and in the deathly silence, the slender brunette carefully lowered herself down off the wardrobe. Clutching her gun tightly in her right hand, Dani took a moment to clear away the fear of what was to come; she was going to need a cool head if she was going to make it out of the hotel alive. First thing she was going to have to do was go out into the hallway and try to find out what had happened to the rest of her team.

With a goal in mind, agent Pearce swiftly changed out of her office uniform of a knee length skirt and a plain white long sleeved blouse, and into a pair of black pants and a dark colored t-shirt before pulling her long hair into a makeshift bun to keep it out of the way and slipping her feet into her sneakers and double-checked her gun. Taking a deep breath, she cautiously opened to door to the hallway.

In the split second it took her to get a view of what was happening, she realized exactly how bad her situation was and shut the door silently. Armed men were still going from room to room, herding the last remaining guests out in to the corridor and to the elevators. After the first burst of gunfire it seemed nobody else was being brave or stupid.

Knowing that to step outside would instantly turn her into another hostage, Pearce retreated back into her room to wait and, while she waited, she got out her cell phone biting down on her bottom lip when she saw there was no signal. With a silent curse, she returned her phone to her pants pocket and set about making more preparations for her attempt to escape. A butter knife wasn't much of a weapon, but it was better than being left with nothing if she ran out of ammunition for her gun.

Time passed quickly because within fifteen minutes of looking into the hall, there was total silence. Dani waited a few more minutes and then, with a pounding heart and adrenaline pumping through her body, she stepped out of her room to begin her own reconnaissance.

A relieved sigh escaped from between her lips when she discovered nobody was guarding the floor, so she began moving from room to room searching for anybody else who had managed to avoid capture. The eerie quiet was unsettling, but as an experienced CIA field agent, she didn't let it bother her.

The way they had cleared everybody from the floor told her the terrorists were obviously a well-trained group and, from what she had seen, they were well armed, too. Stopping by one open door, she bit back on a gasp at the sight of a man's bloody body laying just inside the room. The amount of blood splattered over the walls and pooled about his body told her whoever he had been, he must have put up a fight and she guessed it was this gunfire that had alerted her to the danger.

Doing her best to avoid stepping in the blood, Dani entered the room. The way she saw it, it was her duty to gather whatever intelligence she could to help save her own life and to pass on to her superiors, once she was free to be debriefed. She picked up a few of the bullet casings and dug a couple of the bullet fragments out of the wall. Using the camera on her phone, she took a few photographs to document the scene. Searching the room, she found the victims passport. He had been an American businessman. Making a note of his name, she left the passport where she had found it and moved on.

Three hours later and she had confirmed there was nobody else alive on her floor or, if there was, they were damn good at hiding and had no intention of being found. The next step was to try to find a way out to safety. Standing next to the elevators, she could hear the cars rattling on their way up and down the shafts, telling her the hostage takers were mostly likely moving people or equipment between the floors. Watching the numbers on the display, she could see they were going to thirtieth, which was the top floor, the twenty fourth, the twelfth and the ground....... What were they up to?

At mid-day, the elevators stopped working, as did the hotel's air conditioning, and the lights all switched to the dim emergency lighting. It seemed the army had gotten around to cutting the power.

By dinner time, Dani's stomach was beginning to complain about the lack of proper food and sweat was rolling off her body due to the unrelenting heat. She had gone through eight bottles of water keeping hydrated. As the sky began to darken and she hadn't heard a sound from inside the hotel for over an hour, she decided it was time she made an attempt to get to one of the lower floors.

Standing in the hallway, she'd stared at the two elevators and then at the fire door, which led to the stairwell. Neither way out of the hotel was ideal; once traveling either down the stairs or risking clinging to the elevator cables, she would have nowhere to hide if she was discovered.

"You don't want to do that."

At the sound of a strange masculine voice so close behind her, Dani felt her heart leap into her throat. But she managed to at least outwardly look in control. Whirling round, she'd instantly brought her gun to bear on the stranger standing less than six feet away from her.

"The doors," he added helpfully, gesturing with his chin. "You don't want to open them. I was on the twenty third and I heard some of the guys running this show say they were setting booby traps to stop the hostages from climbing down the shafts." He paused, noticing as if for the first time the suspicious look in her eye. "Carson Halliday," he introduced himself.

"You're American?" she asked, her eyes locked on the gun hanging loosely in his hand at his side.

His smile had widened showing a line of perfect white teeth. "I actually work for you, Agent Pearce. I got here two days ago. I'm here to take over for Morgan."

It took her moment to remember that Agent Morgan, who had been one of the more experienced men assigned to her department, had been recalled to Langley and his replacement had only arrived two days ago. The one time she had previously seen Halliday, he had been dressed in a suit and tie, instead of cotton shorts and a muscle top and his untidy sweat soaked brown hair had been clean and neatly combed.

"You've been up to the twenty third?" She lowered her own gun, willing to show him some trust.

He nodded and shifted uncomfortably. "Ma'am, if we're going to talk, I'd prefer it if we could find somewhere a bit less exposed."

"Fine, let's go." She let him lead the way back along the hallway and into her own room.

Halliday went straight for the mini fridge in the corner of her room and got out the last two remaining bottles of water. After handing her one, he sat down on a chair.

"I run the stairs back home, so I thought I'd give it a try here. I was on my way back down when the shit hit the fan, so I hid out in a storage locker. I had to stay there for five hours before it was clear."

Dani sipped some water before asking, "You came up behind me, so there is another way to get between the floors?"

"Yeah, but it isn't very safe."

"Is it safer than getting shot on the stairs or blown up on in the elevator shaft?"

"Well, when you put it that way, ma'am."

In the dark, without the aid of flashlights, she'd followed him closely to one of the rooms at the far end of the hallway.

"They've got everybody locked down on the twenty sixth and seventh floors, or at least that's what I think I heard. My Urdu is a bit rusty."

"So a local terror group?" She hung back as he went out onto the balcony. There was no way out that way, they were too high to risk trying to climb down.

"I dunno, for sure. The only thing I know is that they were speaking Urdu. So, like I was saying, hostages are on the twenty sixth and seventh and they've wired the elevators to blow."

He showed her a fire hose he had cut away from its reel. "It's just long enough to drop us down one floor at a time. But it's risky cuz the army on the ground could chose to use us as target practice or -"

"Or we could drop down into a room full of angry terrorists," Dani finished his sentence.

He finished making a knot which would enable them to take the hose with them once they had dropped down to the floor below. His teeth flashed in the darkness as he grinned.

"Care to take the risk?"

Pursing her lips, Pearce thought through the plan. It was risky, but better than taking a chance in the elevator shaft. She kept to the shadows and peered out over the edge. Below them, searchlights were scanning the hotel walls....... If the soldiers on the ground below spotted them climbing down the wall, would they shoot?

"Well, are we staying here, or are we going to do our job and escape?" Halliday asked.

She caught the tone which spoke of a devil-may-care attitude and it reminded her of another agent she used to know.

"Fine." She saw no other way and staying huddled in the dark waiting to be rescued just wasn't in her. "Let's give this a go."

()()()()

An hour later, they had dropped down three floors and were both tiring. The Indian army had spotted them, but thankfully seemed to have realized that not only they were prisoners trying to escape, but had also done nothing to draw attention to what they were doing.

Looking at her sore hands, Dani decided they needed to rest. "Let's stop here at least for a few hours; then we'll do a sweep of this floor and see if we can gather more intel. I'd like to take a look at the elevator shaft, see exactly what explosives they're using. It could be relevant."

Halliday freed the fire hose with a flick of his wrist, reeling in the heavy material as it fell. "You're the boss, ma'am."

"Dani, call me Dani." Drawing her handgun, she looked through the sliding door which blocked their way into the room. "Now's not the time for formality."

Joining her, Halliday drew his own weapon. "How're your lock picking skills – Dani?"

"Not good, yours – Carson?"

"If I hadda a clip or -"

Smiling, Dani freed one of the hair grips which were holding her hair in place. "That help?"

"Yes, ma'am."

As she watched the younger man work, it suddenly occurred to Agent Pearce that Carson Halliday was a very fit, athletic and resourceful young man, not the sort of man who normally settled for a career as a pencil pushing, fraud investigator.

()()()()

Miami…

Sam's hand lifted, closed into a fist and delivered a sharp rap to the door before him....... He had faced down enemy combatants throughout the world from Iran to Columbia and all points in between, he could damn well face down one tiny possibly homicidal woman... Without waiting for a reply, he boldly stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.

She was standing with her back to him, her arms folded across her chest staring out of a large window.

"Hey," he called out not quite able to mask the nervousness in his tone. "The doc's gone. He left a prescription for ya."

He waited for her to reply, but apart from stiffening her shoulders, she gave no sign that she'd heard him...... This was awkward.

"So, how are ya feelin?" He edged further into the room, coming up behind her, but not so close that he was within striking distance.

He could see her reflection in the glass: large, puffy eyes filled with sadness stared out at the view of the backyard below.

"I'm fine," she sniffed, her voice, even though it was little more than a whisper, sounded strained to Sam's ears.

He resisted the urge to reach out to her, knowing she would react badly to any sign of compassion from him. There was only one man who could make this right and he wasn't there.

"Fine, really? So that's why you look like you've just been hit by a truck?"

She drew in a deep shuddering breath and let it out slowly, her hand straying to cover her stomach. "I'm pregnant," she blurted the words out, making him flinch at the pain-filled tone.

The silence after her announcement seemed to stretch on forever. He had thought he knew what to say. Deep down, he had hoped she wouldn't tell him, that she'd wait for Michael to come back and all he would have to do is keep her safe until then without either of them ever having to mention pregnancy or babies.

"Uh-huh," was his total contribution to what should, for any normal person in a loving relationship, be good news.

She turned slowly to face him; her complexion was pale and blotchy, no doubt from the tears which had left trails down her cheeks. She raised an eyebrow at him and, before his brain could tell his mouth to shut up, he asked.

"So – er – how?"

The look of sadness instantly changed to one of utter scorn and, without conscious thought, he backed up a step.

"I mean, I know how, but don't you guys –?" His words faded away as she regarded him through narrowed eyes daring him to continue. "Okay, so you're saying you're one of the one percent?" he finished lamely, wishing the ground would just swallow him up........ Mikey, I swear to God, you're going to owe me big time for this.

"It's none o' yar business, Sam," she ground out the words, her eyes flickering around the room. To Sam it looked like she was searching for something to hit him with.

"So, what do you want me to say? Congratulations?" As he spoke, he winced and half closed his eyes, expecting to see a small bony fist coming at his chin.

In some ways, he wished she would react. The whole atmosphere of suppressed violence had him concerned that she was building herself up for something truly destructive.

"So, what can I do for you? You need anything, want anything? Elsa can have-"

"What can you do for me?" she snapped and began to pace in front of the window. "What do I want? I want Michael back here now!" She stopped in front of him, her eyes blazing with fury. "Can ya do thot fer me?"

He retreated in the face of her anger, but she followed him, her voice becoming louder and more strident as she spoke. "He called me 'honey'! D'ya remember that? It means he's in trouble. If Card has him…. I could lose ham forever. So you get outta here, Get on ta yar buddy network, an' find out wha's happened to ham!"

She was pushing past him on the way of the door, her expression gone from broken and desolate to determined and furious.

"Hey! Hey, where do you think you're going, sister?" He caught hold of her and pulled her back, wincing as pain flared in his injured arm.

"While you sit and talk to your federal buddies, I'm going to the Eden Roc, and -"

"Oh no you're not, uh-huh, lady. You go there an' Card catches you, you'll disappear quicker than you can say thrown into a secret prison."

She glared up at him and then pulled away, dragging her fingers through her tousled hair as she retreated back to the window.

"Look, give me a chance to see what I can find out before you go running off. Mike wasn't alone. Jesse went with him. Maybe he's out there looking for us or they're up to something and don't want us to get in their way. We gotta wait until we know what we're up against."

He watched as Fiona moved restlessly from the window over to the bed and slumped down to sit on the edge of the mattress. Her arms wrapped protectively around her waist as another cramp hit.

"D'ya know why this is such a bad idea? Why Michael will go crazy when he finds out?" she looked up at him, while breathing through the pain.

Licking his lips, Sam nodded. In the spy game, you used whatever you had to, to get the job done, even if it meant threatening a man's family. Michael was going to see this baby as just one more thing that could be used to bring him down.

"D'ya know why me brothers can raise families and give them near normal lives?..…. It's because there's an unwritten rule... Ya don't go after a man's family... Ya don't make it personal, unless ya want ta make it personal."

Sam had no idea where she was going with this, so waited for her to finish what she had to say.

"Tom Card will make this personal."

And his heart sunk; she was right. If Card or anybody else found out Michael had a child, they would be merciless in using it against him. But that didn't make what Fiona was hinting at right either. Taking a breath, Sam sighed and tried to come up with something to say which would sway her from this course.

"We'll all be here for you, sister. Nobody, and I mean nobody, will hurt your baby. So, stop worrying about it and get some rest."

If he could just keep her from leaving the house, he thought he could maintain some semblance of control over the situation while he tried to find out what had happened to Michael and Jesse. One thing he was sure about. Without any solid evidence to prove Tom Card's guilt, killing the CIA agent would only bring world of hurt down on all of them.

()()()()

Barry...

Once he had gotten over the initial shock of seeing an old nemesis behind the wheel of the car he had been thrown into, Barry had actually relaxed back. Just maybe things weren't going to be as bad as he first thought. He'd had a rather unpleasant run in with this man years ago, but to be honest, just recently, he had been dealing with a lot of people who were far scarier.

There had been the whole matter of Grayson Miller's mercenaries nearly killing him and then the hours spent in a small room convincing federal agents that the sets of books he handed over were in fact his one and only originals.

As the Crown Victoria sedan moved slowly through the mid-afternoon traffic, Barry was already playing out in his mind how he expected this meeting to go. All he had to do was hold himself together and keep quiet. After all, hadn't the FBI agents said for his cooperation in locating all Grayson Miller's finances that they would protect him from prosecution?

Besides, as far as he knew, had done nothing to warrant the wrath of CSS Agent Jason Bly.

()()()()

And in the skies in between...

The CIA funded C37-A jet was two hours into the sixteen hour flight to Chatrapati Shivaji International Airport, flying high over the Atlantic Ocean heading eastwards. For the purpose of the mission, it was listed as the property of Dynamyne Industries, a cover which would hold up to even the most zealous customs and immigration officers' checks.

Inside the luxurious private aeroplane, Michael Westen was sat slumped in his seat, staring blankly at the file containing all the intelligence Tom Card deemed necessary for their job of extracting a CIA asset holding valuable information and rescuing a friend from a hostage situation.

He knew he should be studying the detailed reports, learning the geography of the city and, most of all, he knew he should be explaining to Jesse what the hell was going on. But instead of all that, his thoughts kept straying back to the woman he had left sleeping in a Tallahassee penthouse suite.

He had told her to lay low, to stay away from Miami. He had tried to tell her he was a lost cause. Turning his head, he stared out of the small window at the clear blue sky and the wispy puffs of white clouds below. He wondered if for one minute she had listened to a word he'd said or did she just grab Sam and hustle their wounded friend out of the hotel and into the first car she could steal to get them back to Miami as quickly as possible.

Closing his eyes, he swallowed down the sadness and, when he opened his eyes again, he tried to focus on the details of the report lying on his lap.

Tom would have people hunting for her and Sam. If his old mentor found them – Michael tried again to push away his fears, pinching the bridge of his nose as he tried to quell his anxiety.

They knew they were in danger, Fiona had understood his warning. He had to concentrate on his own mission... The mission to have Tom Card dropped into the deepest and darkest hole the CIA had at its disposal.

Letting out a long frustrated sigh, he picked up the first page of the file resting on his lap and started to read.

"So." Jesse dropped down into the seat beside Michael, earning him a scowl which he chose to ignore. "I've been speaking with the tactical support your man Card's provided." He half turned to look along the fuselage to where two burly men sat guarding the weaponry. "It seems your old boss is some kinda hero... These guys think he's God. You know how bad that is for us?"

Michael twisted around and took a casual glance at the men in question, sending them a friendly smile and a nod before turning back to Jesse.

"What were you expecting, Jess'? Just smile, do the job and everything will work out... I promise," Michael said, using his best reassuring tone.

There had been a time, not so long ago, when he had been just like those men. Hell, he had gone to Panama just on Card's say so and it had taken watching Brady Pressman die in fiery explosion to convince him that his old mentor really wasn't the man he thought he was.

"You still haven't explained what we're doin' here."

It was plain that Jesse's patience had run out, but it was equally plain to Michael that he couldn't just blurt out all the details with Tom Card's men sitting in such close proximity. So, he picked up a few pages from the pile and handed them to his friend.

"We are extracting this guy, Sam Pandit, from the Landmark Hotel and getting him across Mumbai and through airport security, all without his bosses or the security services noticing he's gone."

As he spoke, he made a show of pointing out the details to Jesse and then continued speaking in a lower tone, hoping that the 'tactical support' wasn't listening too closely.

"Card has a whole dossier which makes me out to be a drug trafficking traitor who slaughtered a whole CIA tactical squad and you, Sam and Fiona are my willing accomplices. So, until we get hold of that recording you threw in a bush and we find somebody willing to believe our side, we've gotta smile and play nice."

"Uh-huh, I get it," Jesse nodded and spoke loudly. "So, you got the lay out in there?" Then, while Michael rustled the remaining pages as if searching for a diagram of the building, he replied quietly, "Cowley, we're giving the recording to Bill Cowley. Remember?"

"Here we go." Michael waved the page Jesse requested and then said, "Card has already fed Cowley a whole pack of lies. We can forget him unless we've got cast-iron proof of Card's guilt."

"Great – so what now?" Jesse let his head fall back against the head rest.

"Leave it to me... I will get you all out of this. I promise."

At Michael's tone, Jesse sat back up straight and twisted in his seat so he could see the older man's face clearly. "And what about you? We all get out of this together, right?"

Michael paused, before mustering a reassuring smile. "Sure, that's what I meant."

Then before Jesse could ask any more questions, he turned his head away to stare out of the window. There was no getting out for him because somebody out there had made the decision years ago to ruin his career. They had moved him around like a pawn on a chessboard, all to bring down Anson Fullerton and Management's covert organization.

He had one burning desire left. Once he was done with Card, he was going to find all the people who were involved in his burn notice, the ones that knew about it and didn't warn him, the ones that executed it and the ones that ordered it, every one of them. Some of them were in all likelihood dead, like Rayna Kopec, Phillip Cowan and Anson Fullerton, but at least a few of them had to be still alive.

He would find them and– He blinked and rubbed his hand roughly over his forehead. He would find them on his own, get his answers and, if he didn't like what they had to say-?

He smiled grimly at his faint reflection in the glass. He would end it or it would end him. One way or the other, it would finally be over...


	15. Pulling At The Threads

Using a length of fire hose, Agents Dani Pearce and Carson Halliday managed to rappel down as far as the fifteenth floor of the Golden Palace hotel before the sky started to turn grey and the sun began to rise. Worn out, hungry, and no longer having the cover of darkness to cover their descent they made the decision to stop and rest. 

Before settling down in one of the empty suites, they cleared the whole floor going room to room making sure to make sure they were alone. Finding no sign of anybody else, they gathered up what food they could scavenge from the mini-bars and fridges and then settled into one of the suites which gave them a good view of the elevators and the door to the stairs.

"How are you holding up, Dani?"

Agent Pearce wiped a weary hand over her forehead, pushing her dark hair away from her face. "About the same as you, Carson." She tried to smile but the effort was too much. "We should take turns to get some sleep."

"Yeah, you want ta go first? I'll take another look around, see if I can find anything we can use."

She was tired and her arms ached from all the extra activity. Climbing down the outside of the high rise building had taken all her strength. Heat and lack of food had also weakened her far more than she was willing to admit. It had been years since she had been this active as a field agent. In recent years, with promotion came the safety of working for the most part out of an office.

"No, you get some rest first. I'll wake you in four hours." She looked at her watch.

"You sure? I mean I don't mind."

"No, it's fine, Halliday. Get some sleep. I'll be watching the hall."

She just couldn't bring herself to trust the newest member of her team completely, at least not yet. He had only arrived a few days earlier and she was finding him a bit of an enigma. In his early thirties, obviously very fit, and with no old injuries to slow him down, she couldn't understand why he was stuck in the Mumbai office chasing down smugglers of counterfeit prescription drugs. She knew the real reason for her transfer was punishment for helping Michael Westen find the owner of the specialized rifle that killed his brother. But she couldn't remember seeing any sort of black mark against Halliday's record.

Shaking her head, she slowly got to her feet and left the younger man to sleep while she went to keep watch on the hallway. If they got out of this siege in one piece, she was going to have to ask him what brought him to this particular task force.

()()()()

While it was the middle of the night in Mumbai, it was the early afternoon in Miami and CSS Agent Jason Bly was sitting at his desk contemplating the home-made listening device he had just confiscated from Miami's premier money launderer, Barry Burkowski. As he turned it over in his hands, he recognized it as the handiwork of a certain disgraced spy and now he was wondering what he was going to hear when he pressed the play button.

After his failure in interrogating Fiona Glenanne, he had been sent back to the CSS and his own case load, but in his free time he had quietly followed up on what was going on in the CIA and in particular what Michael Westen was getting up to in his efforts to get his girlfriend out of prison.

As soon as he had heard of the deaths of Anson Fullerton and Nate Westen, he had sent for copies of the forensic and police reports. There had been absolutely no doubt in his mind the younger Westen had died because of something the older Westen was involved in and he had wanted to know what it was.

For a start, there was the question of why CIA agents were acting outside the law by running point on an operation against an American citizen on American soil. This question was followed closely by asking why they had allowed Nate Westen, who was not only a civilian but also appeared to have no combat or operational experience, to be involved in the arrest of a man considered to be a threat to national security.

It didn't take him long to come to the conclusion that the whole thing smelt of a CIA/DIA cover up and, when he got hold of the file on the official FBI investigation, he had realized it wasn't only the CIA/DIA who wanted the whole case to disappear. Somebody high up in intelligence circles was manipulating the official investigation.

To get his answers he had tried to set up an interview with the senior agent in charge, Danielle Pearce, only to be told the agent had been reassigned to Mumbai, India, supposedly for being involved in industrial espionage and blackmail.

With all his leads drying up, he had been on the verge of showing his hand and bringing Westen and his team in for questioning when suddenly they all disappeared off his radar.

Then came the reports that Westen had massacred a CIA tactical squad operating in Panama. Apparently he was involved in trafficking drugs and had resisted arrest by the Panamanian Militia and the CIA. Bly had found it hard to believe that Westen was a drug smuggler; if it had been guns he might have given the reports some credence.

While he was digesting all this new and frankly incredible bit of intelligence, he'd received a phone call to report to the office of Congressman Bill Cowley.

The head of the Intelligence Oversight Committee had wanted to know why Westen, who until very recently had been considered the hero of the hour, was now back to being hunted down by every intelligence agency in both North and South America.

"I have it on good authority you are the man to come to if I want intelligence on Michael Westen?" Cowley had stared at him from behind his wide oak desk.

"Yes Sir," He had replied, doing his best to hide his surprise at this unexpected turn of events.

"What's your opinion on this?" Cowley handed him a file which had been sent to his office by Operations Chief Tom Card. "Read through it and get back to me ASAP."

He had taken the file back to his office and read through the information inside twice. It was filled with vague intelligence reports, incomplete communication logs and credit card receipts which could be something or absolutely nothing at all. There was also satellite photographs showing a scene of devastation, but they only showed the aftermath of the supposed arrest attempt and many of the pictures were so grainy it was hard to make out any details.

With what he already knew about the way Westen operated, Bly concluded the file had to be phony. Michael Westen did a lot of illegal and highly dangerous things but he was positive the spy wouldn't use lethal force against a CIA tactical squad unless he was backed into a corner and believed he had no choice.

It was at this point he had changed the focus of his investigation away from Michael Westen and onto the author of this latest Westen work of fiction, Tom Card. The Operations Chief had been Westen's training officer, and apparently a friend, so why was he setting up his protégé to be hunted down as a traitor.

It was while he was trying to make sense out of the bank account details Card had provided as proof of Westen's involvement in the drugs trade that a call came through from the team he had watching Card saying they had spotted Westen and Jesse Porter close to Card's hotel.

He'd still been cursing an hour later when he realized he had missed his chance. Minutes before he had gotten there, Porter had been taken down by what witnesses described as two large men in black suits and nobody had seen Westen at all.

He wasn't sure why he chose to hang around by the Eden Roc. A nagging feeling in his gut had urged him to wait in case his team had missed something and then, as he was eating his lunch at a nearby café, he had spotted Barry Burkowski acting strangely.

Pressing the play button. Bly sat back to listen. A grin slowly spread across his face as he recognized the voice of Michael Westen........ "Card is up on the ninth, Room 914. You should be able to tape our conversation from down by the marina... Good luck,"

The sound of fast walking footsteps followed and then a long silence, all except the faint sound of breathing. There was a door shutting and then a knock on a door followed by an almighty crash. Somebody had kicked in that door.

"Hello there."

"Show me your hands, Tom."

A door was slammed shut and Michael Westen kindly provided the name of his target. Unless Bly was very much mistaken, this all took place in Operations Chief Tom Cards hotel room.

"Michael Westen, back from the dead. What are you going to do? Shoot me?... Hey! Hey! Listen to me, Michael, it was Grey who killed Anson. He was the one who killed your brother. He was the one who murdered Nate. He did that."

"You ordered him to. You're responsible,"

Westen sounded ready to commit murder.

"I never wanted Nate dead, I would have never taken that shot."

Card was pleading for his life.

"You tried to have me killed."

Bly could hear the fury in Westen's tone.

"And that was my own personal hell. It wasn't supposed to go like that. You are like a son to me."

The CSS agent paled, the smile falling away to be replaced by a grim expression: Had Card just admitted to attempted murder?

"You are out of your mind."

And it seemed Westen was shocked by his old boss's admission too.

"No, no. Michael, can't you see? We both know it is a big bad world out there. And guys like you and me: we….make….calls…. We get up in the morning and know the ends justify the means. Why do you think Anson had to go? I'll tell you why, he knew what I had going on in Yemen, in China, in Pakistan."

Bly couldn't believe what he was hearing. He hurriedly began to scribble down notes.

"You're talking about treason, Tom."

"Michael, it might be time for you to grow up, my friend,"

"You're not my friend!"

"But I was and I damn well can be again. Do you think I am the only one who had things they didn't want Anson Fullerton to bring out into the open? We can do things, great things, necessary things. You and me, working together …... Clocks ticking … What do you think? Can we… can we put all this behind us? Huh? Can we move into the future?"

Card had to be insane; it was the only explanation that made any sense. This recording was like gold dust. Even if he managed to only confirm half of it, it would lead to at least a congressional hearing.

"You tried to kill me. You came after us with a goddamn missile and a full tactical team. What makes you think I want to do anything but put a bullet in to your brain? My life has been destroyed. You killed my brother!"

"Jesus, kid, are you really this stupid? You still think this is all on me? Do you think I wanted to order Tyler Grey to take you out? I was following orders. Something you seem to have forgotten how to do."

Card was sounding calmer now. But Bly's mind was reeling at the wider conspiracy the recording was exposing.

"What? What are you saying? If this is just you trying to -"

Michael was the one sounding desperate now. Then there was a sound of a scuffle and a body falling followed by.

"ANSWER ME!"

"They've known for years there was a clandestine organization made up of former and burned spies running off the books operations. Do have any idea how long it took to get you into place to take them down? To make you a tasty little morsel they wouldn't be able to resist?"

"You did all this? Got me burned?"

The sound of Card's mocking laugh came through the speaker and Bly winced.

"No, not me. Well, not only me. I was brought into the loop when Rayna Kopec was assassinated... Please tell me you knew that was an assassination?"

So the burn notice was a set up if Card was to be believed. He noted down the name Rayna Kopec. He would have to look up the details of her death. 

Card continued...... "Your old boss nearly nailed them, but she made the fatal mistake of getting noticed. But she must have known they were closing in on her, because before she died, she passed everything she had gathered upstairs.......... Hey, you want to blame anybody for dragging you into all this? Blame her, kiddo. It was your name she passed up the line “Michael Westen is in the unique position to gain employment within the organization as I have reason to believe he is already being targeted for recruitment'."

"You're lying, trying to - - -"

The recording suddenly came to an end and Jason Bly let out a long deep sigh. What he had in front of him was dynamite, if he could confirm the details. He quickly packed away the recording into an envelope and, along with his notes, dropped everything into his case. He needed to find Westen fast. He wasn't quite sure whose side the spy was on, but that was nothing new, but one thing he was sure of was that the rogue spy could answer a lot of questions.

It was time to put the screws to Barry Burkowski.

Walking into the interview room where Burkowski had been handcuffed to a table for the last three hours, Bly closed the door took his seat and then opened up a clipboard and selected a pen. Only then did he look at his prisoner.

"So, where can I find Michael Westen?"

()()()()

Agent Bly wasn't the only person asking that question. Across Miami on Palm Island, Sam Axe was asking himself the same thing.

"Well, I think I've talked Thumbelina outta tearing South Beach apart looking for Mikey." Sam came down the stairs of Elsa's newly purchased million dollar fixer upper.

He felt absolutely beat; his arm was throbbing more than he was going to admit, especially to the beautiful woman standing before him.

"How about we go sit down on that nice comfortable couch and watch the news?"

Elsa slipped an arm around Sam's waist and walked with him, her free hand lightly resting on his torso. "You want to sit on the couch and watch the news?" she frowned up at him.

"Ahh…" He dropped down and pulled Elsa in close against his good side. "I promised Fi I'd try to find Mike for her. I thought the first step should be to see if anybody has been shot or blown up in a last coupla hours." He switched the TV onto WSVN. "If any Mikey-style retribution has taken place over night or this morning, then it ought to be on Channel 7 by now. Otherwise, I think it will be safe to say he's not completely gone off the reservation, at least not yet."

"Didn't you tell him I contacted Bill Cowley and there's no need for any of you to do anything?"

"I told him, but Mike has a few issues with Tom Card and he's pretty set on settling them himself. Don't worry about it, sweetheart." He turned slightly, doing a good job on hiding how much it hurt, and planted his lips firmly against hers in a deep kiss designed to take her mind off all that was happening.

When they came up for air, they were both breathing heavily, Elsa's lipstick was smeared over her kiss bruised lips and her perfectly groomed hair was tousled and tangled. To Sam, she looked more beautiful than ever and it took all his self-control to drag his eyes away from her face to check out the local news reports.

With Elsa's head snuggled against his chest, Sam tried to concentrate on the two female news anchors. After five minutes of listening to some inane chatter about a lizard, while he read the headlines running across the bottom of the screen, he came to the conclusion nothing destructive or bloody had happened in Miami that morning. Switching the TV off, he kissed the top of Elsa's head and then maneuvered himself out from under her shoulder.

"Sam?" Elsa asked.

"Whatever Mike's up to, he hasn't done it yet. Otherwise the Eden Roc woulda been plastered all over the news by now, so I'm guessing he hasn't gone there yet."

"Why would – Oh!" Elsa suddenly got what Sam hinting. "You think Michael would actually hurt Agent Card?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah I do. That's why I've gotta go find him. Maybe I can talk him inta giving Cowley a chance to make things right."

Elsa put a hand on Sam's good arm, her eyes filling with worry and concern. "Let me help. You should be resting. Adam said you could lose the use of your arm if you don't look after it." Her fingertips stroked down his arm.

"Thanks, baby, but it's too dangerous. Besides, Mike isn't going to be standing out in the open and if Card sees you…" A shiver went down Sam's back at the thought of Michael's old mentor getting his hands on the wonderful woman in front of him.

Looking over Elsa's shoulder, he caught sight of the bodyguard, David Geary, standing out in the hall doing his job of looking inconspicuous. "How about I take Geary with me? He can drive. I'll sit quietly and give him directions. How about that?"

Elsa sighed and pouted. Her hand which had been on Sam's arm was now resting over his heart. "You've been shot," she stated firmly.

"Sweetheart, I'll be careful." He gently cupped her cheek. "I just have to find Mike and bring him back here."

"You'll let David do all the work?" She stared into his brown eyes. "And no running around trying to save the world."

"I promise, baby." His hand went from her cheek to the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her hair as he drew her into a deep passionate kiss. He was still finding it hard to believe she hadn't kicked him to the curb yet.

Breaking away, he took a step back and stroked his fingers over her cheek before turning towards where Geary stood.

"You up for this, fella?" Sam challenged Geary, knowing the man had been listening to every word.

The bodyguard grinned and nodded. "Whatever you want, sir."

Satisfied with Geary's reply, Sam turned once more to Elsa. "Now, you stay inside and keep the doors locked. I'm not gonna tell Fiona I'm leaving. Tinkerbell needs all the rest she can get. But you spot anybody nosing around, you get her up."

"We'll be fine, Sammy... This is my property. I have every right to be here... Besides this island has top flight security in place. We'll be perfectly safe."

With Geary leading the way, they left through the kitchen and into the garage. Elsa watched from the front door as they drove away in the car that she had sent for them to use at the airport.

The two men drove past the security gate and out onto the MacArthur Causeway, taking them back into Miami.

"So, where to?" Geary asked.

Sam had been thinking about where to start his search. The logical place to look was around the Eden Roc. The ex-SEAL had no doubt in his mind that his best friend intended to kill Tom Card. But, at three in the afternoon, Card was not going to be hanging out at the hotel; he was going to be busy covering his ass at the CIA field office. With everything that had happened in Panama, the Operations Chief was going to be kept busy just containing all the fall-out from the blown mission.

So with no intention of going anywhere near a building filled with CIA agents, and knowing Michael would not risk being caught near the Eden Roc until he was ready to act, Sam made the decision to check on Madeline Westen. If Michael was about to do something that could only end in a nationwide manhunt, he would probably make one last effort to reach out to his mother.

"You know the way to North River Drive?" Sam asked.

"Ah-huh, you best give me directions... What's there?"

Sam didn't reply immediately. The last time he had seen Madeline Westen had been at her son's Nate funeral where she had made it very clear she blamed all of them for her youngest son's death. Each time Michael went to visit, he came away a little more broken.

"My friend's mom," he eventually answered, using a tone that let the other man know not to ask any more questions. "Take a right up ahead." He gave a small gesture as they neared the junction.

Ten minutes later they were driving along North River Drive with Sam slouched down in his seat while both men kept an eye out for any CIA or FBI surveillance teams. Unable to spot any suspicious vehicles parked up on the street, Sam directed Geary to park up outside the Westen home. If Card didn't have people watching, it meant he had to have ears and probably cameras inside the house.

Digging into his pocket, Sam brought out one of the burner phones Elsa had brought with her to the Palm Island house. "Knock on the door. Maddy is maybe five six, sixty years old, she's got blond hair. Tell her you met at Disney World last year and hand her the phone and then say she might want to take a walk outside."

Sam was impressed, when Geary took the burner and got out of the car without asking any dumb questions. He watched as the man walked up the steps to the door and knocked loudly. He waited, but after a couple of minutes it was obvious nobody was in.

He expected the younger man to come back to the car, but instead Geary went around the side of the Westen home. Sam could only watch as Geary checked out the back of the house and then, when he saw the man walk back towards the road talking with Maddy's next door neighbor, Mrs. Reynolds, he bit back a curse.

Two minutes later, Mrs Reynolds went back into her own home and Geary came back to the car.

"Your friend's mom has gone to stay with her daughter in law in Las Vegas, a blonde, mid-twenties, gotta kid with her – a boy," he announced as he slipped into the driver's seat. "'parrently the daughter in law has been around a lot the last coupla days and then Miz Westen called up Miz Reynolds last night to let her know she would be away for at least a week."

Geary stopped talking and stared at his passenger's ashen complexion. "You alright, Mr Axe?"

Was he alright? He wasn't sure. Madeline had gone off to Las Vegas with Nate's ex-wife. Fiona was pregnant and Mikey was god only knew where. He prayed there were no more shocks waiting around the next corner.

"I'm fine." He stared straight out of the windshield and tried to think where to go next. "Let's go to Homestead. We've gotta storage locker there."

With a bit of luck, Michael and Jesse would have stopped there to arm themselves. If he could see what they had taken, maybe he could work out what they were up to.

()()()()

To give Fiona some credit, she did try to rest. But every time she laid down, her mind went crazy, filling her head with thoughts of the line of enemies, both hers and Michael's, who would see the chance to hurt them through their child. Then, as if that wasn't enough, her thoughts turned to what would she do if Michael didn't come back. Or if he came back and didn't want anything to do with their baby. All these thoughts had her getting back to her feet and wanting to run out of the door.

When she heard the front door open and then a few minutes later close, she ran out of the bedroom and headed for the stairs. On the way, she passed a large window which over looked the driveway and caught a glimpse of a familiar black car driving away.

The feeling of betrayal planted by Michael's disappearance grew at the thought that Sam was now running out on her, too. Picking up speed, she reached the bottom of the stairs to find Elsa standing in front of the door. The older woman's eyes went large, but she held her ground. To Fiona, it looked as if she was trying to block her escape.

Slowing, and then coming to a stop, Fiona took a second to rein in her temper. "Was that Sam?"

"He's out looking for Michael," Elsa replied. "He wanted me to apologize for not telling you. We thought you were sleeping."

Elsa looked calm and at ease, but Fiona could see it was the veneer of a professional in the hospitality business. It was the same pose she probably used when forced to deal with disgruntled customers or employees.

"He took your security?" Fiona noted, her tone becoming more clipped as she became more impatient.

"Yes, Sam's arm is -"

"I have to go."

Elsa gulped, but instead of moving out of the way, she folded her arms over her chest and stood her ground. "Fiona," she smiled nervously. "Please, Sammy wanted you to stay here with me. Let's have a cup of tea and -"

"Elsa, please just move out of my way," Fiona sighed. She was so tired and her stomach hurt, but she had so much to do.

"Sam won't be long. You should stay so at least you can say goodbye." Elsa talked over her, but at least the woman had the good sense not to try to touch her.

"Elsa, I have to go" She pushed by the older woman, threw open door and stepped out into the sun.

"Fiona! Don't you care about your child?" Elsa blurted the accusation out without thinking.

At the older woman's words, Fiona came to a sudden stop, her body rigid with ice cold anger. Turning around slowly, she levelled a look at Elsa which would have sent anybody that knew her heading for cover.

"Wha' d'ya say?" The Irish was back in her accent, but it wasn't the pleasant lilt of romance novels, it was the harsh snarl of a Northern Ireland activist about to start a fight.

Elsa was as white as a sheet, but she held her ground. She was doing this for Sam and she also could guess what the younger woman was going through. Taking a deep shuddering breath, she set about defending herself.

"The doctor, Adam, he was concerned that the cramping pains you are suffering from are a warning sign you could miscarry. It was why he wanted you to rest. He said he tried to tell you, but he wasn't sure how much you were taking in."

The look of anger slipped away and one of Fiona's hands went to her belly, her head beginning to reel at the sudden change of emotion from anger to fear. She saw the look of fear on Elsa's face and felt sick that she was the cause of it. She felt a sudden need to explain herself.

"I'm doing this to keep the baby safe. I have to -"

Elsa stepped forward rapidly as Fiona appeared to sway.

"I can't pretend to understand what you're going through, but I remember what is like to be scared and pregnant," Elsa spoke softly. "You have to follow the doctor's orders on this and take things easy. Come back inside and rest. You'll be no good against the people who are hunting you if you're incapacitated."

Fiona let her shoulders slump. As much as she hated to have to admit it, Elsa was right. At the moment, she wouldn't stand a chance if she ran into any of Card's CIA agents. She sighed and nodded, accepting her new reality.

If she didn't slow down and start thinking before acting, she was going to get herself and her baby killed. This was no longer just about her and even though she had been horrified to discover she was pregnant, she couldn't bear the thought of losing what was probably going to be her only chance to have a child.

"You're right," she nodded grimly, allowing the older woman to guide her back into the house.

"That must have been hard to admit." Elsa closed the door and followed Fiona into the living space. "You put your feet up and I'll make a pot of tea. I brought some with me when Sam said you both needed a place to hide out." Ever the gracious hostess, Elsa went to make the drink while Fiona did as Elsa suggested and lay down on the couch.

She hadn't planned on falling asleep, but as soon as her head hit the arm rest on the couch, Fiona's eyes closed and her breathing slowed and deepened. It was as if everything she had been through in the last year finally caught up to her and her mind and body weren't going to give her a choice any more.

Elsa took her time in the kitchen, taking the opportunity to settle her own nerves at facing down the fierce little Irish woman now resting in the living room. Up to now, she never thought she would have anything in common with any of Sam's friends, but she had seen something very familiar in the younger woman's face: fear of the unknown.

Placing the teapot, a small jug of milk and bowl of sugar on a tray along with two cups, she took a deep breath and headed into the living room. Walking into the room, she smiled softly and placed the tray carefully down on the coffee table.

Fiona was fast asleep, one arm flung across her eyes while the other arm was wrapped about her waist. Turning, Elsa went to where she had put all the bags David Geary had carried into the house for her. Sorting through one of the bags, she brought out a large red blanket which she laid over the sleeping woman.

Taking a seat by the window so she could keep an eye on anybody approaching the drive, Elsa took out her cell phone and stared at the face. What she wanted more than anything was Sam Axe safely back at her side. She thought about calling him, just to hear his voice to reassure her he wasn't in danger. Her finger brushed over his number on the speed dial but she didn't give in to her desire. However scared she was, she was going to trust her man to come back to her in one piece. Those two little words brought a wistful smile to her lips. Samuel Axe was indeed her man.

()()()()

While Sam Axe was driving towards Homestead, the men he was trying find were thousands of miles away, coming in to land at Chatrapati Shivaji International Airport.

As the C37-A private jet came into land, Jesse Porter straightened his tie for maybe the ninth time in five minutes and pulled at the cuffs of his shirt trying to get the sleeves to hang comfortably inside his cheap CIA suit. But it wasn't his ill-fitting clothing that was the real cause of his agitation.

What had Jesse Porter worried was the man sitting next to him, who was staring moodily out of the window. Michael Westen was bringing a whole new meaning to the word stoic. After going through the details of their mission once, the older man had retreated into silence.

This was the man who had in the past stayed up all night obsessing over a minor element of a insignificant job. During the whole sixteen hour flight, Michael had spent more time staring out of the window or sleeping than he had studying their mission brief.

"You okay, Westen?" he spoke softly, his eyes flickering to where Card's men were sorting out the baggage that would be accompanying them.

"Yeah, fine," Michael replied smoothly without even bothering to look around.

Sighing, Jesse slumped back in his seat. Until they were somewhere more private he couldn't do anything else. Biting down on his lower lip, he just hoped Michael was playing some sort of game on Card's watch dogs and, once they were alone, the spy would fill him in on what he was up to.

As soon as the plane came to a stop and the doors opened, Michael was on his feet and leading the way outside into the dull light of a Mumbai evening. Leaving the aircraft, they were hurried over to Customs and Immigration, where it appeared that the way had been greased for them to be fast tracked through all the security checks. After nothing more than a cursory check of their passports, visas and the paperwork entitling them both to carry weapons, they were sent on their way.

It wasn't long before they were traveling at dangerous speeds away from the airport in a local taxi. After little more than ten minutes, they were pulling up outside a long, squat two-storey building with the name "Landmark Hotel" emblazoned over the all-glass double doors.

Inside, they booked in and handed over their passports to the very helpful and friendly English speaking receptionist, who directed a bellhop to show them to their room. Once they were alone, they quickly checked out the small twin beds and the en-suite room.

Finding no listening devices or cameras, Jesse finally felt the time had come to find out what was going on with his friend. It was as he was about to demand some answers that Michael switched on the small TV attached to the wall.

The sight on the screen held both men's attention:the entrance of the Golden Palace hotel floodlit and surrounded by the Indian army and police. Jesse could only watch as he noted Michael's lips thin and the edges turn down while the reporter at the scene explained the day's events.

"They're saying that the army attempted a breech early this morning and two soldiers are dead, three more were wounded before they were driven back... In retaliation, the terrorist group executed ten hostages, all were foreigners but no other details are being released," Michael translated. He fixed the younger man with a hard, penetrating stare. "I think we should leave Card's thief here for now and go check out the hotel first."

Jesse's mind flashed back to the two nights he had spent alone working with Dani Pearce. That first night had been all business. He remembered being impressed at the level of focus she brought to an assignment and had told her so. The following evening, when she put her whole career in jeopardy to help Michael find his brother's killer, one celebratory drink had led to another as had one chaste kiss led eventually to more passionate acts in her hotel bedroom.

For the first time in a very long time, Jesse felt a jolt in his chest and he found himself wanting nothing more than to get to the Golden Palace hotel as quickly as possible to find out what had happened to Dani Pearce.

"Damn straight," he muttered, as he joined Michael in changing out of the business suit and into some dark-colored clothing. "Time to put some Westen mojo on this situation."

Ten minutes later, they were walking out of their room, carrying a black canvas bag filled with all the weapons which had been concealed in their suitcases.

"So, whatcha think Card will do if he finds out we're not doing this by his playbook?" Jesse asked as they walked out through a side door which took them out into the hotel parking lot.

Michael was focused on deciding which of the ten cars sitting in the lot he was going to help himself to, so when he spoke, his tone was flat and cold.

"If he wants his thief back and the piece of tech he stole, he'll do nothing," he advised as he moved towards the vehicle of his choice.

Jesse followed dutifully behind, surprised by his friend's confidence until Michael finished his thought, that is.

"At least not until we get back anyway."


	16. The Extraction Of Dani Pearce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The action hots up in this chapter as Michael & Jesse prepare to assault a hotel under siege to rescue their friend.

()()()()

Getting information on the status of the multiple hotel sieges was, as far as Michael Westen was concerned, the easy part of their self appointed mission. But before they could complete that task, they had to travel through the crush of humanity which filled the main roads leading into the business district of Mumbai.

It wasn't only the level of traffic, which slowed everything down to a crawl or worse still brought them to a complete stop. It was the sheer chaos of the Indian road system as cars, motorbikes, bicycles, and even horse or donkey driven carts competed for space on the overcrowded streets. While the sound of car horns were almost drowned out by the shouts of the pedestrians and other motorists. Then there were groups of enterprising traders, who walked amongst the queuing vehicles banging on car windows in their attempts to sell food, drinks or trinkets.

"This is going to take forever," Jesse murmured as he took in the scene of mayhem surrounding them.

The tension in the vehicle was reaching the breaking point, as Michael's fingers continuously flexed around the steering wheel and his piercing gaze stared through the windshield as if he could clear the road with the power of his mind.

Still muttering under his breath, Jesse climbed out of the car and used his superior height to try to see if there was an end in sight to the jam. What he saw was a military road block. Probably the first of many. 

“Oh crap...” Stooping down he stuck his head back inside the car. Dude this jam isn't gonna clear any time soon. There's a roadblock up ahead.” 

With terrorists over running three hotels filled with visiting tourists and business people from throughout the world, the army was doing its best to control the flow of people within the commercial center.

"G-reat," Michael answered and switched off the car engine. "We'll have to find another way through... Grab the bag."

Ditching their stolen car in the middle of the worlds biggest traffic jam, Michael and Jesse made their way along the back streets on foot until they found a spot where they could slip past the road block and the first line of patrols.

Michael knew exactly where he wanted to be and, with the street map in one hand, he led the way through the narrow winding streets and alleyways surrounded by high rise buildings on either side. Eventually they came out on a small square, the area filled with news trucks from throughout the world and the cafés, bars and restaurants were almost at the bursting point with media personnel, all waiting for the big break in the story of the siege of Mumbai.

After hiding the bag filled with their weaponry under a nearby dumpster, they entered the square and split up; there was no need to discuss a plan. Both men knew they needed to gather the most up to date intelligence on what was happening in the Golden Palace Hotel. So, with that in mind as they made their way across to the row of bars and cafés, they helped themselves to clipboards and sets of earphones from the backs of the news trucks and press badges from an unsuspecting camera man whose badge came unclipped when Jesse brushed passed and an assistant press officer who was so busy rushing back to his motel room he failed to notice Michael's sticky fingers removing the badge from his jacket pocket.

While Jesse stuck to his American accent, playing the enthusiastic newbee, going from group to group in one bar seeking out all the gossip he could from any English speaking crews he came across, Michael changed persona from American, to Russian, British and German depending on who he was talking to.

After an hour and a half, Jesse had dried up on sources of fresh information and started walking back towards where they had left the guns when he suddenly came to a stop, his mouth falling open before he could stop the reaction. He was watching as Michael sat at a table chatting amiably with what appeared to be an Indian Army Colonel. The two men were still smiling when, ten minutes later, Michael got to his feet, shook the colonel's hand and then moved away.

Walking towards Jesse, Michael ditched the clipboard he had been carrying and the fixed, cheesy smile he was wearing slowly slipped away. Clapping the younger man on the back, Michael strode past him with a determined look on his face.

"Some time in the early hours of the morning, the army is going to mount a coordinated attack on all three hotels. They plan on ending the sieges regardless of the cost of life." Jesse grimaced at the news.

"The execution of hostages and pressure from the world governments has pushed them into bring the situation to an quick end. Both our guys and the Brits are pressurizing the Indian government to be allowed to bring in our own special forces to end the sieges."

"He just told you all that?" Jesse asked. He knew Michael was good, but nobody was that good.

"No, not in so many words. But I told him I was from Sky News and wanted to set up an interview for tomorrow morning. He told me he was confident that by eleven AM, he would have some good news to report to the whole world."

Michael flashed a knowing smirk in the younger man's direction.

"A few drinks later, he let it slip about all the pressure he's under because of the failed rescue and the rising death toll. This guy needs to put an end to this as quickly as possible, before he gets replaced. You can fill in the rest yourself."

Dragging out the bag from it's hiding place, Michael led the way towards where they could see the beams of helicopter searchlights circling.

"So, do we have a plan?"

"Same as before, Jess. We go in and bring Pearce out."

"You always make it sound so easy."

Michael didn't reply; his face was set in grim lines as he picked up speed. Both men were now jogging down the side streets, only stopping when it was necessary to hide from the army patrols trying to encourage people to stay off the streets.

()

Getting past the outer ring of patrols guarding the siege zone had been the easy. There simply wasn't enough men to guard the whole of the perimeter, so slipping by them was just a case of using a little common sense and patience.

But the closer they got to the hotel, the more army personnel they had to hide from. It was slow going, but eventually they got close enough that they could see the hotel bathed in floodlights. In their way was a cordon of soldiers on the ground, a helicopter circling overhead and a wide open, exposed plaza which they would have to cross before they reached the hotel.

Kneeling down, Michael unzipped the bag holding their supplies and brought out a block of C4. Using his combat knife, he began cutting the block into smaller pieces.

"Whatcha got planned, Mike?" Jesse squatted down next to the older man as he began to attach timers to two pieces of the explosive.

"We need to get past that guard post and we also need the look outs in the hotel and the guys in the helicopter to be looking some place else, too. This is the quickest and easiest way I know to do it. While everybody is looking at the smoke and flames, we'll get across that open space and inside."

Jesse paused, as if deep in thought. "This is getting to be a habit, you know."

Michael looked up, his expression wordlessly asking the question.

"Visiting new places and blowing the crap outta them," Jesse filled in the blanks.

"We need to draw those men away from their post," Michael replied flatly.

"Hey, don't worry about it. It's just what I wanted to do when I got up this morning, be part of another international incident. I mean, what's it been now, three, four days, since the last one?"

Michael looked at him as if he was explaining something to a small child. "Well, you'll be disappointed then. Because whatever happens here, it definitely won't become an international incident. Card will disavow us and we'll get to rot in some Indian high security prison for the rest of our lives."

"Gr-eat... Hey, about that deal you made with Card, you never..."

"Later, Jess," Michael cut the younger man off before he could ask any more questions. "Just be glad I'm not blowing up your Porsche this time," he added with a grin, giving Jesse a flash of his old self.

"But -" Jesse's words died on his lips as Michael shot him a cold hard look, the good humor of a moment ago gone as quickly as it had appeared.

"This a war zone, Jesse – if you don't –."

"I'm not backing out. I'm just not a fan of committing an act of war in a foreign country," Jesse back tracked under the icy cold stare coming his way. Not for the first time, Jesse wished Sam or Fiona was there with them. This new scary intense Michael Westen was hard to keep up with.

"It'll be fine," Michael spoke with sincerity oozing from every syllable. "Go keep watch on that guard post while I plant these."

While Jesse kept watch, Michael disappeared into the darkness to set up the two small charges, which would hopefully draw off the the guards.

When he returned, Michael was breathing heavily from his run half way around the perimeter. "C'mon, follow my lead."

He stepped out into the open and began to run towards the guard post as if in a panic, calling out in English and waving the press badge he had stolen earlier.

"Hey! Hey! Help! Yo! There's men back there –" He pointed back the way they had come and, just as he pointed, an explosion went off, followed by a second one over to the left of where they stood.

The helicopter was the first to change its course to fly over the bomb site. A fraction of a second later, the six soldiers rushed by Michael and Jesse, leaving two men behind to guard the witnesses.

As soon as the patrol moved out of sight, Michael reacted, his fist landing a hard blow to one soldier's throat. Then, as that man began to drop, he turned on the second man, who was bringing his gun up when Michael snatched the weapon away, reversed it and delivered a blow to the man's head with the stock. With the second man crumpled in a heap, he turned back to the first man, swinging the rifle stock to knock him out, too.

Jesse stood rooted to the spot. He had seen Michael pull off similar moves countless times before during the last three years, but he had seen a subtle difference this time and it unsettled him more than he liked to admit. Each move had been done harder, faster and with a certain cold-hearted viciousness that he was unused to seeing. The blow to the throat could have easily killed the soldier and Michael didn't even seem to care.

"What?" Michael looked up from where he was dragging the fallen men out of sight.

"Nothing." Jesse licked his suddenly dry lips, wondering just how long it was going to be before Michael Westen completely lost control.

"Good, c'mon, those little explosions aren't goin' to give us long."

With the guards out of sight, Michael and Jesse ducked low and sprinted across the plaza until they were in the relative safety of the dark shadows against the hotel wall.

Continuing to move swiftly, they hugged the wall until Michael spotted a side door. Coming to a stop, they took a second to catch their breath and at the same time screwed silencers onto the barrels of their hand guns.

"Keep watch," Michael ordered. Retrieving his lock picking tools from his pocket, he knelt down and set to work.

As soon as he felt the lock give, he held the door closed and then opened it just a fraction of an inch. If he had been trying to keep people out of a large building with a lot more exits than he could cover, he would have laid booby traps.

He wasn't disappointed as he caught sight of a thin piece of wire attached to the door handle on the inside.

"Jess, come here. I need you to hold the door." When the younger man took hold of it, Michael let go and glanced at his friend. "There's a grenade on the other side with a piece of wire attached to the pin."

Michael slipped his arm through the narrow gap and, while they both held their breaths, he managed to catch hold of it while Jesse kept the door steady and, with his free hand, cut the wire from the door.

Letting out sighs of relief, they slipped inside the hotel. Michael freed the grenade from the wire and put it into his pocket. Ahead of them was a long dark hallway with no hiding places. If they were discovered, their only hope of living through the experience would be if they were the better shots.

"You ready for this, kid?" Michael asked.

Kid? Say what? Jesse paused, as he looked back at the older man seeing an eagerness for battle glowing in the bright blue eyes staring back at him that he had never seen before.

"Yeah, let's get this done," he replied, pushing his misgivings about his friend's state of mind as deep as he could.

With their silenced handguns leading the way, the two men moved swiftly along the corridor which mercifully remained quiet. Reaching another door, Michael pressed his ear against the solid wood barrier. Unable to hear anybody on the other side, he tested the handle and felt the catch release.

Without having to speak a word, he saw Jesse was ready and waiting for him to open the door, so Michael slowly eased the door open, allowing Jesse to check for another booby trap. Cautiously, the younger man took a peek through the narrow gap and gestured that it was all clear. Without wasting any more time, they moved on.

Making their way deeper into the hotel, they went through several more doors the same way until they reached a set of wide, half-glass double doors which lead into the hotel lobby. Taking a risky glance through the glass, both men found themselves staring at a row of dead bodies laid out in front of the doors.

Michael stared at the scene, noting the victims were all male and each had been shot in the head. He had seen similar scenes many times before, but it wasn't something that could be just pushed aside. It was a grim reminder of the sort of people they are about to take on.

He hadn't forgotten what the Indian Colonel had told him. There were approximately twenty heavily armed and well trained terrorists ahead of them, with one hundred mostly scared and traumatized hostages being used as human shields. The decision to leave the bodies blocking this door way had probably been done as a grim warning to anybody attempting to flee.

Tearing his eyes away from the grisly sight, he suddenly remembered the younger man at his side. The ex-counter intelligence agent had never served in the armed forces; he had been recruited straight out college and, after a short career as a field agent, had joined counter-intelligence and been put behind a desk. Jesse had probably never seen executed bodies laid out like the ones before them.

"You okay?" Michael asked in a low voice.

Jesse swallowed thickly and glanced over to the older man, reading the concern on his face. "Yeah, I'll be fine."

"Good... There's another grenade. It looks the same as the rest. You want to do the honors or shall I?" Michael held out the small set of wire cutters.

Taking a deep breath, Jesse steadied his nerves and took the cutters. He knew Michael was giving him the chore of disarming the grenade to take his mind off what was waiting for them on the other side of the door and he was grateful.

With this third device disarmed and the grenade added to the collection in their pockets, they slipped through into the lobby. Once inside the large airy reception area, they sank down until they were flat against the cold marble floor, the sound of voices letting them know they were no longer alone.

Crawling on their bellies past the bodies of the terrorists' victims, they made for one of the many tall, thick in diameter marble columns which decorated the area. Over to one side next to an L-shaped desk made out of rich, dark-colored paneled wood, three heavily armed men stood talking in animated tones.

Michael cocked his head to one side, listening intently to the rapid speech of the three men. Frowning, he tried to follow a conversation in a language he hadn't used or heard spoken for years.

"They're talking about the bombs that went off outside and that maybe they have some supporters ready to join in their fight," Michael whispered to Jesse, letting the younger man know the guards had no idea they were there.

Dropping down low again, using the abundant foliage from all the pots of shrubs and small trees that were scattered around the lobby for cover, they made their way towards the hotel restaurant where they could hear more low voices and the occasional whimpering cry.

Reaching the waist height wall which separated the restaurant from the lobby area, they could just make out the sight of a large group of hostages huddled close together at the far end of the room. After seventy two hours being held captive, the initial panic had gone and now they were all quiet and subdued, apart from talking amongst themselves in low murmurs.

At first, they could only spot one guard watching over the group, a young man dressed in the same manner as the three by reception, in a blue and white track suit, the jacket unzipped to reveal a bullet proof vest.

Jesse lightly tapped Michael's arm and pointed to the bar area and the door which could be seen at the back that probably led into the kitchen. Michael grinned, happy to see Jesse had managed to pull himself together and was functioning normally. Trying to keep watch on the four terrorists, they made their way over to the bar and through the door into what turned out to be a large storeroom. At the other end was another door which took them into the kitchen area.

Both men's nerves were being stretched close to breaking point as they searched the large room with shelves crammed with so many metallic utensils that one false move, one falling saucepan or serving spoon, would alert everyone on the floor to their presence.

Breathing a long sigh of relief when they were satisfied that the room was secure, Michael brought out a set of binoculars and looked out of the porthole window in the kitchen door. His hope that Pearce was one of this group dashed as he carefully studied each face. Then, as he went to lower the lenses away from his eyes, something caught his attention. Seconds later, with his worse fears confirmed, he handed the binoculars to Jesse.

Directing the younger man where to look he watched his friend's mouth settle into a hard line at the sight of two of the hostages sitting together, slightly apart from the rest, two men with fear-filled expressions and taut body language. Both were wearing vests made out of small blocks of C4 wired together and connected to a box with a red flashing light.

"Sonuvabitch! We have gotta get them out of here," Jesse breathed out the words, turning to face his friend only to see Michael looking back at him as if he was crazy.

"We find Pearce first," Michael announced firmly. "She's our primary. If we free the hostages, we risk alerting the terrorists to our presence."

"Mike, there are women and kids in there... We have to get them out... Look, if we clear this floor, we'll know the way out is safe." He tried to appeal to his friend's tactical side.

"There are four of them Jesse. That's two to one. They get off one shot, or get a chance to use their comms and we announce to everyone on the upper floors that we're coming." Michael turned away. He had seen the way over to the stairwell and it wasn't being guarded.

"Mike, c'mon man, look at them. Those are innocent civilians in there. We have to help them."

Michael stared back at his friend, ready to tell him they were only there for Pearce, to repay the debt that had got her transferred to the other side of the world. They were definitely not there to try and work miracles. Taking on so many hostiles was asking to get killed.

 

"Those of us that can still prioritize are here for you, Jesse." ….....

Fiona's words came back to haunt him, hitting him like a punch to the gut, reminding him of another time he was going to brush away a group of women facing a life of slavery at the hands of a Yakuza gang. It didn't help that Jesse was giving him the same look of disappointment now as he had that day, too.

"We can do this, Mike... There's only four of them. Hell, it's as good as a fair fight. We've taken on worse odds before." Jesse had seen the crack in the older man's resolve and pushed harder.

Pursing his lips, Michael sent the younger man a look which he normally reserved for those who had truly annoyed him before turning back to study the hostages, he had already noted at least one very frightened woman in the group and a couple of young children who could easily alert the guards to their presence before they were ready.

He shook his head "No, the risk is too high. You've just got to face it, some people li-" he stopped, paling as he realized what he was about to say. Swallowing thickly, he took one more look into the restaurant.

"Fine, we'll do things your way," he announced.

Jesse wasn't sure what brought about the sudden change of heart. He had been convinced Michael was about to order him to abandon the hostages to their fate. Wiping a hand over his head, the younger man was getting tired trying to keep up with his friend's rapidly changing moods.

"Jesse, if we're doing this, pay attention. The way I see it, we have to get rid of the explosives first and then take out the guards. There's just too many of them to know which one has the trigger switch. Which means we've got to trust all those frightened people in there to remain calm and not expose us while we disarm those vests."

"Okay, so give me the 411... If we each take one vest a piece, we can work faster," Jesse answered eagerly.

Raising the binoculars again, Michael studied the detonators and the wiring as best he could in the dim light. "Okay, they look pretty straight forward... You've just got to cut the wire between the detonator and the transmitter."

"Great, sounds simple enough." Jesse began the open the door, then froze. "Damn."

Joining his friend, Michael watched as the terrorist who had been sitting on a chair guarding the hostages, but in truth had been close to dozing off, was joined by a second man they hadn't noticed before. If the two men start taking their guard duties seriously, getting the hostages free would get a lot more complicated. Seconds tick by as both men waited to see what the guards were going to do.

"We can still do this," Jesse hissed, seeing his chance to save the hostages slipping away.

Then, much to Michael and Jesse's relief, the second guard moved on, walking swiftly towards the toilets.

It's a risk, Michael knew, but there was no other way. They couldn't work on freeing the hostages while there was a guard on either side of their position.

Gesturing for Jesse to move towards the nearest hostage wearing an explosive vest, the older man pointed towards the toilets and then at himself to let his friend know what he was about to do.

Nodding his understanding, Jesse crept over to the where the hostages were sitting, weaving in and out of the tables and chairs, until he appeared at the edge of the group. Thankfully, the first couple of people he came into contact with were not the jumpy types and before long he was amongst them.

With Jesse working on the first explosive vest, Michael made his way along the back wall until he reached the toilets. Pushing the door open, he slipped through the narrow gap he had created and silently entered the room.

The terrorist didn't know what had hit him. All he heard was a sudden rush of feet and then, before he could turn, his head was slammed into the hard surface of the tiled wall. As he fell forward, stunned and bleeding from a cut above his eye, Michael delivered a second blow to the man's head to make sure he wasn't going to wake up any time soon.

Cable tying and gagging the man, Michael dragged the limp body into one of the stalls. Quickly removing the terrorist's AK-47 and Beretta handgun, Michael added them to his own collection and then completed a quick search of the man's pockets, looking for anything that would identify which group they were dealing with.

Finding nothing of value, Michael closed the door to the stall and left the toilets as quietly as he had entered. He was pleased to see that the guard at the table by the entrance to the restaurant hadn't moved and Jesse had already disarmed the first vest and was moving on to the second.

Heading stealthily across to where Jesse was working, Michael could pick up on the atmosphere of eager anticipation replacing the earlier despair. As soon as the hostages spotted him, the tension went up another notch and a few were looking around, searching for the rest of what they thought was a full rescue team.

Feeling a hand touch his arm, Michael turned to find two men kneeling beside him. One was in his fifties and overweight and the second was a skinny guy, wearing glasses and the classic stoop of a man who had spent too much time sitting behind at a desk.

"We're CIA. I'm Sherman and he's Kurt," The older man whispered. "We're here as part of an anti-counterfeiting task force... Can we help?"

Michael looked up, sharply assessing each man.

"You work with Pearce?" he demanded.

The older man nodded, eager to be a help. "She's our boss, she eats up in her room in the morning. She must be -"

Michael cut him off by handing him the fallen guard's AK-47 and the younger man the Beretta handgun.

"Do you really want to help?" Both men nodded eagerly and Michael grinned back, hoping he was making the right decision. "Okay, hold back when we get the rest of the hostages out and you can stay and give us a hand."

Sherman glanced around nervously, suddenly realizing that the two heavily armed men were not part of a larger team. "Where's the rest of your team? Who are you? SEALs? Delta?"

But Michael was already moving away.

"How's it going, Jess?"

"Nearly done, what are we going to to do about that guy?" He gestured towards the guard still sitting at the table.

"Leave him to me," Michael growled.

"Mike!" Jesse hissed. "Dammit!"

He realized the older man had taken the play out of his hands and all he could do was quietly prepare the hostages to get to safety.

"Okay, people, let's keep this real quiet."

Michael had shed his guns and was standing in plain sight, his hands open and a nervous smile on his face.

"Er – hey. Can we talk? Do you speak English?" He kept his body language, expression and tone non-threatening as he edged closer to his target.

The guard snatched up his gun and got to his feet. "Sit down." Michael mentally translated the Urdu being spoken as the guard's rifle was thrust in his direction.

Michael came to a stop but didn't back down. "I don't understand, p-please, I just need a few words."

He could see the guard wavering as he risked a nervous glance back to where his colleagues still stood just out of sight by the reception desk. He had to get the guard to come closer and quickly, before the man realized he was guarding two more hostages than he was supposed to be.

"I just want to talk. Please, I have something to tell you, something important." Michael added a whine to his voice, and was rewarded for his apparent weakness by the guard marching towards him with a menacing scowl on his features.

As soon as the rifle barrel came close enough for him to grab, Michael repeated the move he had used earlier, snatching the gun and then using it to put the terrorist down with a well placed blow to his forehead.

Hearing hushed whispers of concern coming from the hostages, Michael sent a glare in Jesse's direction as the younger man tried to keep the group calm. Thankfully, they weren't making enough noise to be heard over the voices of the three remaining terrorists at the other end of the ground floor.

"Okay, folks, I'm going to show you the way out now. Come on, follow me. Just remember what I said, you tell those Indian army guys some guests are fighting back and they should give us sometime to do our job."

Michael watched as Jesse began to lead the hostages out of the restaurant, taking them back through the kitchen and along the route they had used to get inside.

Satisfied that the younger man would take the hostages as far as the long hallway before sending them the rest of the way on their own, Michael turned his attention to the next task in securing their escape route and the two rather nervous looking CIA fraud investigators.

"C'mon, let's get this guy back with his friend."

By the time Jesse returned to the restaurant, Michael's most recent victim had been hog-tied and dragged into the toilets to join the previous recipient of a concussion, thanks to Agent Westen, and the two new members of their team were looking very pale and shaky.

Studying the two local agents, Jesse couldn't see why Michael was letting them stay. They obviously had very little, if any, combat experience and were probably going to be more of a liability than any help.

"So, Kurt, you know what you're gonna do?" Michael was coaching the younger, weedier, least threatening looking of the desk jockeys. "You just have to walk around that corner and get them to come to us... Tell them their friend is sick."

"Are you sure?" Kurt licked his lips and wiped at his eyes, nearly dislodging his glasses in the process.

"You have nothing to worry about. We'll be right here backing you up." Michael patted him on the back and started easing him towards the front desk.

"Er, Mike..." Jesse whispered, trying not to let the object of their discussion hear them. His friend was really going too far this time. These guys might be CIA, but they were hardly up to the task of taking down heavily armed, well trained terrorists. "You can't use these -"

"They'll recognize Kurt. If one of us steps out there, they'll either shoot or call for back up," Michael shot back, silencing the younger man with another stern look.

"Get ready!" he snapped as Kurt rounded the corner and they heard one of the terrorists call out for him to stop.

"Sorry, sorry, please, don't shoot, y-your friend is sick – he's been sick – please don't shoot." Kurt's voice shook as he answered the angry shout to stand still.

Michael listened, then translated what he heard. "They're coming. Remember, no guns, and whatever happens, do not let them call for back up."

The three remaining terrorists pushed their prisoner in front of them, their voices light and joking, oblivious to the ambush they were walking into.

Stumbling and half falling, Kurt staggered into sight, followed by the first of his tormentors. This man was instantly set upon by Jesse, who fell on the man from behind, wrapping his strong arms around his target's neck in a choke hold.

The second man ran into Michael's kneecap, which buried itself into his stomach, causing the terrorist to fall forward straight into the arms of Sherman and the reinvigorated Kurt, who began kicking and hitting him in an uncoordinated but very effective attack.

The third man had got a couple of seconds warning and was already turning away and reaching for his radio when Michael landed on his back, driving him to the ground. Soon he was trapped with one strong arm locked about his throat and both his attacker's legs wrapped around his lower body.

Michael tightened his grip, determined to stop the man crying out. His free hand clamped onto his victims head and, in that moment, all the unfairness, the frustration and suppressed anger which had marked the last year of his life boiled over.

"Mike! He's out, you can stop... Hey, you're gonna kill the dude!" Jesse's voice broke through the red mist filling his mind and he released the unconscious form laying on top of him.

"We got 'em all, Mike. Chill out, man. You okay now?"

Michael lay on his back, taking deep ragged breaths as he took back control. It had been years since he had lost control like that and it frightened him how far he was slipping back. He was better than the angry young man he had been during his early career in the CIA.

"C'mon, it ain't time to take five, Westen." Jesse held out a hand to help him up. "You want to disarm the fireworks on the front doors while I help Sherm and Kurt move these bodies?"

Standing up straight, Michael continued to take deep breaths as he worked on clearing his head. He was grateful to the younger man giving him this time alone to pull himself back together.

This had been a warning, a sharp reminder that he needed to rein in his temper and focus on the job. This had to be Card's game... to put him under so much stress that he got his team-mates and himself killed.

Well, he wasn't going to give the old man the satisfaction.

Feeling a lot calmer and back in command, Michael went to figure out how to disarm the device attached to the front doors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be posted tomorrow (Friday) as the action continues to heat up.


	17. Stairs, Bombs & Missing Boyfriends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As promised here is the next instalment. In this one while Michael & Jesse continue their search for Agent Pearce, back in Miami Fiona & Elsa are becoming concerned about what has happened to Sam Axe.

Sitting in an overstuffed comfy armchair, Tom Card leaned back and stared up at the ceiling of his hotel suite. With his elbows resting on the arms of the chair, his fingertips of both hands touched, as if forming a steeple, and he allowed a small smile of satisfaction to show on his face as he contemplated how, after a little bump in the road, all his schemes were coming together.

Through the open doors leading out onto the balcony, fresh sea air blew softly into the room, causing the lampshade above his head to sway gently in the breeze. Yes, the strands of his spider web were drawing taut as his enemies tangled themselves in his carefully laid trap.

()()()()

Mumbai.......

Entering the stairwell, Michael stared upwards and pursed his lips in disgust. The highly polish wooden staircase with a clear glass balustrade was going to make the ascent a tactical nightmare. The sound of their footsteps would echo all the way up the tall narrow space, giving their position away to anybody guarding the stairs and the clear glass meant they would have no cover, not if but when they were discovered.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he began to pace back and forth in a tight circle as he tried to come up with a safer way of getting to the upper floors.

What the hell had he been thinking? How could two men take on twenty terrorists spread over a hotel with thirty floors and hope to find one woman amongst all the hostages being held?

He glanced out to the lobby where Jesse was stood talking to the two CIA fraud investigators who had helped them free a group of twenty hostages before moving his gaze to the alcove leading to the toilets where the five captured terrorists were tied up. Part of him, the dark part, which recently was coming to the fore more and more often, wanted to go into that room and drag as much information out of the group as he could by whatever means necessary and he had plenty of unpleasant means at his disposal, thanks to the trio of sadistic mentors who had educated him in such things.

The more-centered part of his brain reminded him that the men they had captured were all true believers; nothing short of prolonged torture or a skilled interrogator with a couple of months free time would make those men tell him anything useful.

Dropping his gaze to stare at the shiny wooden floor under his feet, Michael went back to pacing. He was still so wrapped up in his thoughts, he barely acknowledged Jesse's presence when the younger man joined him in the enclosed space a few minutes later.

"Man, they're gonna hear us coming the second we start climbing," Jesse commented as he stared upwards. "One grenade tossed down that - - -"

"I know, Jesse," Michael grumbled without looking up. "No need to rub it in."

He already knew the younger man was right. It was what he would do if he had to defend the staircase from anybody trying to climb up. One hand grenade thrown down to ground level and any assault team would be dead and gone.

"I'm just saying."

"Would you prefer to use the elevator shaft?" Michael demanded. Yeah, get stuck in an even smaller space, clinging to a wire with nowhere to go, when the bad guys find us.

"N-oo, thank you, I was taught to always have my feet on the ground when facing a bunch of crazed jihadists armed with automatic weapons," Jesse replied, taking a step back.

It was then that Michael noticed a couple of people were missing. "Where are- -?"

"I told them to leave," Jesse answered flatly, waiting for a lecture on how they needed all the help they could get.

But he got a surprise.

"Good, they would have been in the way."

In the narrow stairwell, Michael only wanted people he could trust to have his back and that meant Jesse. He might not be as seasoned a field operative, but Jesse Porter had proved himself an expert in combat, time and time again over the last three years.

"And what's the great Michael Westen plan to get us up the stairs without getting killed?"

That was a good question and one he hadn't managed to find an answer to. "There is no plan. We're just going to have to be very quiet and hope they want to keep this staircase intact."

"So, we're falling back on loads of improvising and getting lucky? That works," Jesse shrugged. "Got us by that bunch of merc's in the Bahamas, right?" He handed Michael one of the terrorist's bullet proof vests and blue track suit jacket. "And if we look like them, at least from a distance, hopefully they won't shoot first."

Offering the younger man a tense smile, Michael quickly stripped off his equipment and put on the vest with the loose fitting jacket over the top before loading up with his guns and ammunition. He flashed his friend a grin and showed him the radio.

"We'll get some warning when our cover has been blown, too."

"Okay then, let's do this before we both come back to our senses."

Drawing their handguns, they cautiously took to the stairs. Stepping lightly, they hugged the wall and slowly began to climb. Each light tap of their boots on the polished hardwood, every time their clothing made a scuffing sound against the wall, they expected to be discovered.

Upon reaching the first floor, Michael came to a stop as he spotted the reason why nobody was bothering to guard the stairs.

Strung across the bottom of the door was a thin, almost invisible wire running from the base board on the wall to a detonator stuck in to a small block of C4 tucked under the handle on the door. Anybody who had avoided being taken as a hostage would be killed if they attempted to leave their floor.

"Sonuvabitch," Jesse hissed as he saw the trap.

"Pearce's room is on the twenty second floor and we don't have a lot of time left to find her. As soon as that Indian Colonel hears there are Americans in here mounting a rescue, he'll be on the phone to his superiors trying to find out what's going on and when he does, he'll be ordering a full scale assault... Then all hell is going to break loose."

As Michael spoke, he carefully disarmed the bomb by pulling out the detonator and removing the wire. "At least we now know why they're not bothering to actively guard this part of the hotel."

With the device made harmless, they continued climbing, still stepping lightly and trying to remain as silent as possible. At each floor, they stopped just long enough to remove the booby traps from the doors before continuing upwards.

"You think these guys will kill all the hostages?" Jesse asked as they reached the fifth floor.

Michael nodded. "Yeah I do... They've already executed ten in cold blood, so they've got nothing to lose. Besides, they took out at least a couple of soldiers when the army came in last time. When they come in next time, it will be even harder, which is why we need to find Pearce and get out of here."

After passing the sixth, seventh and eighth floors without incident, Michael came to a stop on the ninth when they discovered a door blown off its hinges and bloodstains on the walls and floor. Stepping over the gore, Michael peered into the hall and let out a deep sigh when he saw the body of a man missing an arm. Moving closer, he checked out the body even though he could tell the man had probably bled out not long after the army's attempted assault earlier in the day.

"There's nothing we can do. He's been dead at least twelve hours."

"What if –?"

"Anybody else alive is in hiding, Jesse, and it's better for us if they stay hidden," Michael answered softly. "We need to keep moving."

As he neared the top step leading to the twelfth floor, Michael sank down low and held up his arm, bent at the elbow and his hand in a fist. Just around the corner came the faint sound of voices. With Jesse at his side, Michael tried to make out what was being said. When he had heard enough, he slowly backed down the steps until they were half way between floors.

"Sounds like they're holding more hostages on this floor," Michael spoke in a low tone. "We're going to have to take out the guards as quietly as possible."

Jesse's eyes went large at his friend's casual announcement. "Now you want to take on armed guards? An hour ago you wanted to leave the hostages to fend for themselves."

Michael gestured with a nod of his head towards the top of the stairs. "Yeah, and you talked me into rescuing them," Michael replied. "Hey, you think we can sneak past? Be my guest."

It wasn't that he wanted to smash down the door and take on a floor full of hostiles, but he couldn't see another way around the problem. If they were seen, they would end up exposed with nowhere to hide.

Michael bit down on his bottom lip and tried to come up with some way of keeping themselves safe. Finally, he nodded and stood up straight.

"If we can slip by, we'll put down tripwires on the stairs behind us... But if we're seen, we go in hard. You okay with this?"

"Sure, why not? But when this is over, you're going to owe me- - -"

"I'm going to owe you?" Michael returned with a ghost of smile, but it was enough.

Satisfied they had some sort of plan for dealing with the guards, they slowly climbed back up the stairs until they reached the small landing. To get past unseen, they were going to have to round the corner and climb up to the next turn in the staircase.

And until they made that turn, because of the glass balustrade, they would be in plain sight.

After they waited for five long minutes and didn't hear a sound, Michael inched forward and quickly peeked around the corner; it looked clear. Taking a deep breath, he sprinted up the staircase, running as silently as he could. When he was sure he was out of the line of sight from anybody looking out of the door, he exchanged his handgun for his rifle and prepared to cover Jesse as the younger man made his way up the stairs.

"Wow!" Jesse mouthed as he joined Michael.

"Keep watch," Michael whispered as he carefully placed his rifle down and began to rig a tripwire on the second from top stair with a wire running across the step just above ankle height to a grenade balanced precariously on the first step around the next turn in the staircase.

()()()()

It was as they reached the fourteenth floor that they heard a soft crackle from the radio they had taken off the terrorists on the ground floor. Pausing, Michael listened to the chatter, his mouth becoming fixed in a straight line and his knuckles whitening as his grip on the radio tightened.

"The guys on the ground floor failed to check in," he announced to Jesse just as they heard the door two floors below them open and the sound of footsteps moving down the stairs. "They're sending a team down to check on them."

Jesse ran his tongue over his suddenly dry lips. This was exactly where they didn't want to be, surrounded by terrorists and no sign of Dani Pearce. 

"How long do you think we've got?"

"Five minutes... Maybe less if they notice -" Michael's words were cut off by an excited shout echoing up the stairs. He closed his eyes and sucked in a breath. This was it. "We need to get moving."

They had only just begun to move when an explosion rocked the staircase and both men instantly dropped flat. As the sound echoed throughout the stairwell, it left Michael and Jesse momentarily confused. The explosion hadn't come from behind them, but from above.

The radio hanging from Michael's belt suddenly crackled to life and as soon as the spy managed to translate the rapid and agitated speech, he began to move. "Whoever is in charge has ordered a full search of the stairs!"

The door on the floor below them banged open again followed by shouts and then, mere seconds later, another explosion went off as the terrorists on the way up the stairs triggered the tripwire Michael had set.

"We can't stay here, let's move." Michael grabbed hold of Jesse's jacket and dragged him up the stairs until the younger man began to run on his own.

Sprinting up the staircase, all efforts to remain quiet abandoned, they rounded the stairs on the fifteenth floor and skidded to a stop. The door had been blown back into the hallway of that floor and they could clearly make out the voices of two people talking in hushed tones, both were American, one male and one female, which they recognized instantly.

"Dani!" Jesse hissed his voice barely more than a whisper as he went to rush through the shattered door.

"Slow down," the older man counselled as he blocked the younger man's headlong rush.

Michael had a good idea why Jesse was so concerned about Agent Pearce. Most people thought he was dense about personal relationships and, if they were talking about his own personal relationships, he would privately agree that most of the time he had trouble separating friends from assets. But where other people were concerned, he had a razor-like ability to spot a relationship that he could, if he wanted to, manipulate to his own advantage.

He had noticed the chemistry between the couple from the first time Jesse and Pearce had worked together and then had used that spark when they worked together to bring down Ahmed Damore and he had needed to keep Pearce focused.

Then of course there had been the subtle aura that had surrounded Jesse after he had spent a couple of nights away with Pearce getting the information they needed to find the gun that killed Nate.

"Wait," Michael ordered as he tugged on his friend's sleeve, keeping hold until Jesse sighed and took a step back.

Satisfied Jesse wasn't going to let his feelings get away from him, Michael eased his way over all the debris from the explosive damaged doorway and stepped into the dimly lit hall. With no signs of blood or body parts, which had been visible at the site of the last booby trap they had seen triggered, he was on full alert.

"Pearce, it's us. Michael Westen and I have Jesse Porter with me... Stand down, we're here to help," Michael called out.

The female agent they had come to rescue was kneeling next to an unknown man, who had his back propped up against the wall. Both of them were pointing guns at Michael and Jesse.

"Westen? Is that you? What are you doing here?" Pearce blurted out and lowered her gun before slowly getting to her feet.

"What happened?" Michael ignored her questions as he concentrated solely on the injured man, who seemed to have suffered nothing more from than a bloody nose and a few minor burns to his left arm and chest from a blast that had shattered a door and torn the frame away from the wall.

"I figured the guys running the show must have done something to keep the stairs clear. Guess I found out what it was," Carson Halliday answered as he struggled to his feet. "I tried to open the door using a cord from a blind... I guess I should have used something longer." He grinned then spat out a mouthful of bloody saliva. "I'm Carson Halliday."

"Michael Westen, and Jesse Porter." Satisfied with Halliday's explanation, he had already turned his attention to the sounds coming from the stairs and through his radio, informing him that the terrorists were regrouping and calling for reinforcements from the upper floors.

Looking around the fifteenth floor hallway, Michael moved towards the elevator. "Well, when you blew the door, you managed to draw attention to yourselves," Michael scolded. "So now we need to find another way out of here before we're overrun... What about the elevator shaft?"

"It's been rigged with explosives," Halliday answered, following behind the man who had seemingly taken charge.

"Really? Damn, help me- -"

"Westen, what are you doing here?" Pearce had broken away from Jesse after exchanging a few words of greeting and a quick hug. Now she wanted answers and she wasn't going to let Michael Westen bulldoze his way into taking command until she knew exactly what was happening.

"We were sent to get you out of here," Michel answered as he stopped to study the elevator doors.

"Sent to get me? Who sent you? Why? Is this some sort of an attack on American interests?" She caught hold of Westen's arm, pulling him around to face her and to stop him ignoring her authority. "Answer my questions and where is your tactical team?"

"There is no team... And it's too complicated to explain now. But we were sent to Mumbai to collect an asset of Tom Cards and your extraction is a sort of side deal."

"Tom? Tom Card sent you?"

Michael and Jesse looked at each other in surprise; it sounded a lot like Pearce knew Michael's old training officer.

"So you know him? How well?" Michael asked a sliver of suspicion creeping in to his tone.

"Well enough to know he wouldn't send two men to mount an unsanctioned assault on a hotel under siege." Her dark eyes flashed defensively as she sensed Michael's aggression.

"So, he's a friend?" Michael growled, his speech laced with suspicion. Was she another one of Card's proteges?

"Hey, hey, Mike…" Jesse was getting used to handling his friend's rapidly changing moods. Inserting himself between the Michael and Dani, he held out his hands palms facing outwards. "There's no time for this, not now... Why don't you let our friend here show you the elevators and I'll stand guard with Dani."

For a few seconds, there was only silence as Michael continued to stare at his one-time Agency contact. Then he relaxed and dropped his stare and offered a half smile in a sort of apology.

"Okay, Jesse," he agreed softly, then he turned to Pearce. "We need to talk – later."

Dani Pearce nodded, confused about what was going on, but willing to wait for an answer until they were out of their present predicament.

"Good, c'mon, we'll set up near the hole in the wall your boy Halliday made." Jesse gently touched the female agent's arm to get her to follow him the short distance to the empty doorway.

()()()()

"So, how was life treating you before yesterday?" Jesse asked as he peered out onto the staircase.

"Good." Pearce smiled. "This place under normal circumstances isn't that bad. Now, what really brought you here? Because - - -"

She broke off as Jesse snorted. "You haven't heard?" He didn't bother to hide his disbelief.

"I'm in charge of a small task force on the other side of the world.. I have no idea what's been happening back home," she replied, showing a hint of irritation.

He hated the sudden suspicion that leapt to the front of his brain, even on the other side of the world news of a whole CIA tactical team being blown up by a rogue agent should have filtered through.

"We found the shooter that got Nate killed," Jesse told her. "And we followed him to Panama, where he almost got us killed. And when we caught finally caught up with the trigger man, he told us Tom Card had ordered the hit on Anson and that Nate was just collateral damage."

"And you believed him? A hired killer tells you a highly decorated Operations Chief sent him to kill Anson Fullerton and you just take his word on it?" She shook her head. "No, Jesse. You're wrong, I know Tom Card; he's an honorable man."

"No, trust me, Dani, you really don't know him." Jesse refuted her claims and risked turning away from keeping guard. "Card had Michael fooled too, but after that crazy sonuvabitch tried to blow us all to hell with a missile from freaking F18, we all came around to believing Card's hired gun. We barely got out of Panama in one piece and we left a lot of body parts behind us getting back to Miami."

A shiver ran up the young man's spine as an image of Aiden Malloy's last minutes on earth flashed before his eyes and the anguished screams of old man's granddaughter echoed through his mind.

"But, Westen just said you were here on Tom's behalf," Dani frowned.

"When we got back to Miami, Mike wanted to kill Card. It really screwed him up bad that somebody he had known for years and trusted did this to him. But I talked him into going to mano a mano with Card wearing a wire... I heard the bastard admit to ordering Anson's death and a helluvalot more. Card is a traitor! He's no different than Anson, Vaughn and all the other pieces of scum who've wrecked our lives." For some reason Jesse wasn't quite sure about, it was important that the woman standing before him believed what he was saying.

"It's okay, Jesse. I believe you." Dani touched his arm and it was like an electric shock ran across his skin. "But, we need to concentrate…. I think I hear voices."

Instantly, he pulled himself back to the task in hand and very carefully edged back into the stairwell, looking upward to where they could hear the sounds of men gathering for an assault.

"Okay, we've got incoming. Go check on how Mike and your guy are doing cuz we need to bolt!"

()()()()

Miami......

Elsa Dearbon was pacing back and forth, her shoes clacking on the hardwood floor of the long hallway of her Palm Island million dollar fixer upper. Every now and again, she stopped by the wide oak paneled and glass front door and stared out along the driveway before looking worriedly at the face of her wristwatch and then returning to pacing.

Sam and her security consultant, David Geary, had been gone for far longer than she had expected. The sun had gone down hours earlier and now, apart from the floodlights aimed at the driveway, everything else was shrouded in darkness. What was more worrying was that she had also called both men on their cell phones and neither one had answered or called back in response to the messages she had left on their voice mails.

Chewing on her bottom lip, Elsa turned to the door that led back into the living room where Fiona Glenanne lay resting. It seemed wrong to disturb the younger woman because she was worried about her boyfriend being out after dark. Yet Sam always called, especially if he was running late, even if it was just to say a few words and David was a trusted employee who had worked for her for years. The man was reliable and very capable and, most importantly, he was incredibly loyal. She could think of no good reason for him not answering his phone.

Unable to wait any longer, Elsa stepped into the living room and switched on a couple of the wall lights to dimly illuminate the room.

"Fiona." She leaned over the sleeping figure, speaking in a voice barely above a whisper. "Fi –Urgh!" The last sound came out as a strong slender hand wrapped around her throat in an iron grip. "Please..."

The hand came away instantly.

"Elsa?" Fiona looked around trying to get her bearings, confused at being suddenly woken up. "W-what time is it?" When she had lain down it had still been light.

Rubbing at her throat, the older woman sat down on the edge of the couch, leaving Fiona enough room to sit up properly. "It's ten o'clock. I'm sorry for waking you, but I'm worried Sammy and David. They haven't returned and they're not answering their phones."

Fiona rubbed at her eyes and tried to clear the fog that was infesting her brain. Her dream had been – – the memory brought a soft smile to her lips.

"Fiona, we have to find Sam."

"Sorry," Fiona shook her head and forced herself to concentrate. "Call them again."

She got to her feet swaying a little bit as a wave of nausea sent her hand pressing tightly over her mouth.

Watching the Irish woman rush towards the nearest bathroom, Elsa picked up her cell phone and pressed Sam's number on the speed dial, biting down on her lip to stop it trembling when the call went to voice mail. With a shaking hand, she then called David Geary's number only to have the same thing happen again.

"Oh, Sammy," she sighed, brushing a hand over her eyes as they filled with moisture. "What have you got yourself into this time?" Elsa was usually a tough woman, but after what had nearly happened to Sam in the Everglades and then more recently with her son Evan had shaken her confidence.

Taking a couple of deep shaky breaths, Elsa pulled herself back from the brink of a breakdown and got to her feet. Running her hands over her rumpled clothing, she sniffed and then patted her hair back into place. Now was not the time to fall to pieces. Sam had been missing only a few hours and, from what he had told her about Fiona, the young woman currently throwing up in the bathroom had the skills to bring Sam Axe back to her from whatever trouble he had gotten himself into.

()()()()

While Elsa was putting all her faith in Fiona Glenanne's abilities to find her missing boyfriend, the woman in question was more concerned with her ability to stop the room from spinning around every time she lifted her head away from the white porcelain toilet bowl while trying to control the dreadful churning of her stomach.

Wiping her hand over her clammy forehead, Fiona struggled back to her feet and washed out her mouth in the sink. Flushing the toilet, she put the seat down and sat with her head buried in her hands.

What was wrong with her? Her sister in laws had never mentioned feeling like this. Seamus's wife Isabelle had given birth to eight healthy children and she'd never had a sick day throughout all her pregnancies, except for the last one and that had only been in the final few weeks.

Fiona could clearly recall Isabelle at twenty five years old, with three children all under school age and already pregnant with their fourth, waving Seamus off as he headed out to sea on the start of a three month round trip to New York on an arms buying expedition.

Capable and uncomplaining Isabelle Glenanne would scoff at her weakness. A pregnancy never stopped her from doing what was necessary, whether it was running a large chaotic household or driving a truck loaded with armaments to a delivery point because her husband had a bullet lodged in his thigh.

Then there was Roseanne, the sweet well brought up Londoner who, just after her eighteenth birthday, had left behind everybody and everything she knew for a new life amongst strangers. Sean's young bride had given birth to all their children in her own bed with only her mother in law to keep her company.

Getting to her feet, Fiona stood looking at her reflection in the mirror above the sink. Frowning at her pale blotchy complexion, she filled the bowl with water and then wiped away the tear stains from her cheeks. Then once her face was clean and her eyes less bloodshot, she gathered up her sleep tangled hair and twisted it in to a bun. Fixing the knotted mane in place with a few hair clips she found in her pockets, she sighed deeply. She still looked a mess, but nowhere near as bad as before.

Her stomach clenched again. Closing her eyes, she breathed through the pain while in her mind she conjured up the memory of the look of love in Michael's eyes when he had told her she was beautiful and how, once he had found Tyler Grey, he was finished with the Agency.

In her dreams, Michael was at her side and they were both bathed in a warm glow of happiness. The Agency was nothing but a faded memory and their child was healthy and loved. Even now, while her eyes remained closed, she could feel his presence, his palm cradling her cheek, a calloused thumb wiping away her tears as she told him the news, a soft gentle smile coming freely to his lips as he pulled her against his body and he whispered words of adoration in her ear.

A tremor ran through her body, breaking the spell. With a sigh, she opened her eyes and took another look at herself in the mirror; this time she looked deeper, past the superficial. She was weak from lack of sleep, a poor diet and the stress of hunting down Tyler Grey. She was grieving the death of Aiden Malloy, who had once been her father's closest friend, and her body had just handed her the biggest shock of her life.

She swallowed and then straightened up. Turning her head, she looked towards the closed bathroom door. She needed to find Sam, not only for Elsa's sake, but for her own, too. She was going to need Sam to help her find Michael.

Because Fiona knew what she wanted; she wanted her dream to become her reality. She wanted their baby and she wanted Michael at her side.

All she had to do now was work out how to make that happen.........


	18. My Brother's Keeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now Michael & Jesse have found agent Dani Pearce all they have to do is escape from the terrorists who are closing in on their position. Meanwhile in Miami, Sam is about to run into an old "friend".

"So, this is where you keep your emergency supplies?"

David Geary stepped inside the Homestead storage locker and stared at the impressive array of weaponry on display attached to a specialized rack fixed to one of the walls before turning his gaze to the other side of the room and the rows of shelves stacked with boxes of ammunition, C4, detonator cord, duct tape and a wide variety of canned foods.

"You get a lot of emergencies which call for plastic explosives, Mr Axe?" Elsa Dearbon's security consultant queried dryly.

Sam was already busy checking the racks, the shelves and pulling out the drawers under a long metal work bench which ran the length of the back wall. He was trying to work out what was missing so he could figure out what Michael and Jesse had planned for Tom Card.

"You have no idea," Sam muttered as he rummaged through one last drawer and then he stopped what he was doing and looked up. It had suddenly occurred to him that he had no idea how much Elsa had told her security consultant about her boyfriend's lifestyle.

"Er – we – " This could be awkward..... He wondered how bad this was looking to the younger man.

"None of my business, Mr Axe," Geary's blunt reply cut off the older man's speech.

David Geary's steady gaze and calm, professional attitude convinced Sam that Elsa's bodyguard was completely loyal and wasn't spooked by the sight of a highly illegal weapons stash. In fact, he couldn't help a small smile when he noticed the way Geary was eyeing one of Fiona's most recent purchases.

"Help yourself," Sam gestured with a nod towards the rack. "It's an H and K UCP and there's a box of frangible rounds on the opposite shelf."

Geary moved closer, but reluctantly came to a stop. "It's a fine weapon, Mr Axe, but -"

"I understand, David; it's an expensive gift. I tell you what, I won't take offense if you quit calling me Mr Axe and call me Sam instead."

Continuing his mental inventory of all the equipment that was missing, Sam felt a tiny bit of relief that maybe things weren't as bad as he first thought. Both men had changed their clothes; Michael was now wearing a suit. They had also re-armed themselves and the good news was an electronic bug and the receiver was also missing. Sam hoped that that meant Jesse had managed to talk Michael out of killing Card on sight.

"Okay, Sam, so what's next? You find what you were looking for?"

"I was hoping to find a clue to what Mike's up to and where he's going. I know a note is bad trade craft and all, but would it have hurt them to leave some sorta message?" He could only guess that Michael was still determined to protect them all.

"So now what?"

"Now, while you drive us back to Miami, I'm gonna have one more try at getting ahold of our financial advisor. Mikey's gonna need some money and, come to think of it, we could do with some extra cash, too."

With the heavy duty padlock back on the storage locker door, the two men climbed back into the dark blue Cadillac and, while Geary drove slowly towards the security gates, Sam pulled out his cell phone to try yet again to get hold of Barry Burkowski. He knew whatever Michael had decided to do, when he was done, he was going to need cash to run and that Barry was the person his best friend would most likely go to for help.

As the money launderer's phone rang without being picked up, Sam stared at his phone deep in thought. This made it four times that the spiky-haired one failed to answer. Barry always answered his calls, in fact he prided himself on his customer service... The only time he didn't answer his phone was when he was avoiding Michael... So, had Michael already done something to set Barry's alarm bells ringing or had something else happened?

Sam was still staring at the phone with a frown on his face when the passenger door on the Cadillac was jerked open and the muzzle of a Glock 22 was thrust firmly into his temple.

"Get out of the car, Mr Axe," growled the man dressed in a smart black suit with the gun.

()()()()

Mumbai.........

Michael watched Jesse walk away with Dani Pearce. He still had a lot of questions for his old CIA point of contact and it felt wrong letting her walk off without getting the truth about her relationship with Tom Card first. But he also knew that the middle of an armed siege was the wrong time to try to settle their differences. There would be time to get his answers once they were out of the hotel.

Pursing his lips, the ex-spy forced himself to relax and get back on task. Reluctantly, he turned away from the vision of Porter and Pearce deep in conversation as they stood guard. Patience, he reminded himself, and then his eyes lighted on the mysterious stranger who had shown enough sense, or maybe skill, not to trust an unguarded door.

"So, the elevator shaft?" Michael flashed his teeth in a shark-like smile.

"Yeah," Carson Halliday led the way over to the elevators and then with Michael's help pulled the doors open. "I took a peek down there and there are sticks of dynamite wired all the way up and down the shaft... Do you think we can pull the wires out or something?"

"Or something," Michael muttered as he cautiously leaned out to look up and down the dark space, studying the mass of wires twisted around and running out from the main elevator cables to where sticks of dynamite had been pushed into gaps in the infrastructure. "If the power comes on and the cars start moving, the whole thing will blow. Maybe, if we remove the individual detonators..." He paused again, wishing with all his heart Fiona was at his side. She would know exactly what to do. Blinking away the thought, he reminded himself he was the one who had made the choice to leave her behind. With all he had planned for the future, she was better off as far away from him as she could get.

"So, we climb down and start pulling detonators... What about the main trigger? There has to be – one, right?" Halliday suddenly found himself staring into ice cold blue eyes, the toothy smile gone.

"Sounds like you've had some experience with this sort of thing." Michael edged further away from the long drop down the elevator shaft.

"Yeah, I had some bomb disposal training, it was years ago." The younger man was becoming nervous under the steady gaze of the older man.

Michael slowly moved off further to one side and turned his body to make a smaller target as he confronted the stranger who was just too good to be true.

"That's great," he spoke softly the smile back on his lips, but not quite reaching his eyes. In a fluid motion, he drew his gun and pointed straight at Halliday. "Who are you?"

"Look, man, I'm one of Agent Pearce's team..." Halliday backed up as he answered, keeping both his hands open and in plain sight as he was also looking towards where Pearce stood talking to Porter.

"You're one of Pearce's team?" Michael's tone made it plain he didn't believe what he was hearing. "Agent Pearce's team is made up of desk jockeys. I met a couple of them downstairs. You're trying to tell me you're here to check out the labels on pharmaceutical products on the way to the US? The men I met barely knew which end of a gun to hold." Michael felt himself go cold and focused. If he didn't get an answer he liked soon, he was going to shoot this stranger and to hell with it.

Halliday could see death staring back at him and the younger man swallowed thickly. He knew all about Michael Westen, though he had never expected to run into the man in India.

"My name is Carson Halliday. I'm not your enemy... I -" He stopped talking as Michael's finger curled around the trigger. Sucking in breath, he fixed the older man with a stare. "Okay," he held up his hands in surrender. " Stand down, Westen. I'm Agent Carson Halliday. I'm with the Central Security Service."

Michael froze; he was working solely on instinct and training now. He trusted nobody, or rather he trusted Jesse up to a point, Pearce less so, especially after the admission that she knew Card, and now he had to process this new guy who was apparently attached to an agency he'd had only bad memories of.

"What -?"

"We're looking into the arrest and subsequent shooting of Anson Fullerton." Halliday was a smart enough agent to know that only by satisfying Michael Westen's doubts was he going to be allowed to walk away. "And your brother's involvement in what happened. Somebody in the CIA has been blocking my boss's attempts to talk to Agent Pearce, Brady Pressman and yourself. I was sent over here to get close to Agent Pearce and find out what was going on."

"Who's your boss? Who sent you?" Michael asked the question, even though he was pretty sure he already knew the answer.

"Jason Bly... You two have a history, don't you?"

"You could say that." Much to Halliday's relief, Michael returned his gun to his waistband and turned back to staring at the large amounts of explosives blocking their way out. "I'm going to get you out of here, Agent Halliday, and then you are going to go back to your boss and tell him to leave me and my friends alone. I already know who killed my brother and there is nothing you or Agent Bly can do to help. Am I making myself clear?"

Halliday nodded, deciding it was best to just agree at this stage. He opened his mouth to speak, when suddenly he saw both Pearce and Porter fall back a step, followed almost instantly by the harsh chatter of automatic gunfire.

"You think you can start pulling out the detonators?" Michael snapped, his eyes flickering to the elevator shaft.

"Yeah, sure – but..."

"We have to go now. All this noise is gonna bring in the army assault teams. Climb down and start pulling those detonators. I'm going to get Jesse and Pearce..." Michael took two steps and then turned again. "Halliday, we're gonna come out on the twelfth floor. There are more hostages there. We'll try to get them out with us."

Leaving the CSS agent to start the descent, Michael drew his own gun and joined the other two trying to hold back the men firing through the doorway.

Catching hold of Dani's arm, he pulled her back. "Get going, Pearce. We're climbing down the shaft; Halliday is clearing the path, go help him."

"There are hostages on some of the upper floors. We should - -"

"We haven't got time to save everybody, Dani. There's some people being held on the twelfth who I'm hoping we can rescue. But the army is going to be coming in soon and I have no intention of getting caught up in the middle of that fire fight."

They both ducked as the gunfire suddenly became more intense. Then, they watched in horror as a grenade came hurtling towards them. Michael was already throwing Pearce to the floor when a large foot connected with the grenade and sent it whizzing back to where it came from.

The deafening boom followed by screams of the dying was almost drowned out by the whoop of delight coming from the shaven headed young man standing over the two spies.

"Stingaree soccer team captain and highest scorer two years running, man!" Jesse grinned wildly.

With the break in firing, Michael scrabbled to his feet and held out a hand to Pearce. "We should go before they re-group."

"Did you see that?" Jesse demanded, his eyes still shining.

"Yes, dear." Dani rolled her eyes. "You almost got your foot blown off, but good job."

As they ran towards the shaft, Michael took out one of the grenades he had gathered on their way up the staircase and threw it far out of the door, setting off another explosion to slow down their pursuers.

()()()()

Miami......

Jason Bly leaned back in his chair while staring in awe at the mountain of intelligence folders which had been delivered by hand to his office by one of Congressman Cowley's personal assistants. Frowning at the overflowing stacks of information covering his desktop, he was reminded of the old saying, "be careful what you wish for". 

Bly understood the need for all the paperwork, although most of what Cowley had sent him could have been found with access to the right security codes on the CIA database. But any search through Tom Card's records or those of Westen via formal channels would have undoubtedly alerted the Operations Chief that there was an internal investigation taking place.

Idly flipping through the pages of one of the thinner files bearing the crest of the Central Intelligence Agency and stamped in large block letters TOP SECRET, the CSS agent sighed. Well, he could hardly complain. Up until his early morning visit to Congressman Cowley's Key Biscayne mansion, he had been frustrated by the lack of access to any credible intelligence on Michael Westen. Now, he had too much. Closing the file, he threw it on top of one of the stacks before him and closed his eyes.

There were so many rumors, lies and legends surrounding the burned spy, it was going to take him weeks to work his way through all the data he had been handed. But the Congressman had made it very clear at their earlier meeting that he wanted an answer as soon as possible.

What he needed was somebody who could clear away the lies and direct him towards the truth of Michael Westen's life, career and especially his relationship with Tom Card. He could only come up with three people, barring the main protagonists who held the key to the whole truth and he seriously doubted any of them would willingly talk to him. One was in the wind, or more likely already in Tom Card's hands and on his way to a secret prison on the other side of the world. The second had refused his help the last time he had seen her. In fact, the crazy woman had preferred to face the death penalty rather than admit to the real reason why she was facing three charges of capital murder. And the third... Bly allowed himself a small smile. The third was sitting in an interrogation room two floors down from where he sat now. He just needed to come up with a way to reach out to him.

A light knock on his office door drew counter surveillance agent's thoughts away from the seemingly ridiculous scenario of having too much information to his subordinate who stood with his head poking around the edge of the door.

"Sir, we have a location on the female targets."

Bly beamed, "Where?" He was already out of his chair.

"Palm Island, sir."

"Great, get a surveillance team in place. Tell them to be discreet. Let's not spook them, especially not Ms. Glenanne." He was already imagining how badly that would go as he got to his feet and headed for the interrogation rooms. Sam Axe had had three hours to sit and stew. Now he had some leverage, it was time to see if he could make Michael Westen's best friend see sense.

Leaving his office, Bly glanced back at the intelligence files still sitting on his desk before closing and locking the door. Cowley might have gone over the top with the paperwork, but the state of the art tracking technology he had authorized for use on this internal investigation had already proven its worth.

Hooking up Barry Burkowski's cellphone to the newly acquired software had allowed the CSS agents to find Sam Axe's location and to track him to a spot where they could quietly take him and a member of the Dearbon hotel chains staff into custody and Axe's cellphone had led to the discovery of Elsa Dearbon and Fiona Glenanne.

"Now, if only Jesse Porter, or even better Michael Westen, would just call the money launderer or the best friend, it would make my week," Agent Bly thought as he neared the room holding Sam Axe.

()

"Good Evening, Mr. Axe. Sorry to have kept you waiting so long, but it's been a busy day." Bly walked into the room speaking warmly as he pulled up a chair and got comfortable. "I'm not sure if you remember me... My name is - -"

"Cut the crap, Bly. I know who you are," came Sam's waspish reply.

It was obvious to the CSS agent that being confined in a small windowless room with only the flickering and buzzing of a broken flourscent light for company had worked on the ex-SEAL's nerves, which made Bly's smile widen even more.

"Oh good, that makes things so much easier. Let's get started then," he spoke with false cheerfulness. "Now, Mr. Axe, let me be plain here. There is a lot of compelling evidence that your friend, Michael Westen, has been trafficking drugs from Panama into Miami for quite some time." He threw the heavy dossier supplied by Tom Card down in front of Sam and then flipped open the first page. "There are photographs here and several communication logs which document yours and Westen's long term relationship with a known heroin importer who goes by the name of Carmelo Dante."

Sam stared down at a series of grainy photographs of himself standing next to Michael and Dante. It all looked very chummy, as in several of the shots Michael's hand was resting on the heroin dealer's shoulder and they were all smiling.

He recognized them as pictures taken at the wharf where Michael had tricked Dante into using his resources to track down a missing Predator drone for the CIA. But Sam's main memory of that mission was being hung out to dry by the CIA with an angry psychopath who was looking to seriously hurt somebody.

Sam's silence and bored expression wasn't the response Bly had hoped for, but he reminded himself the ex-SEAL was trained to cope with interrogation. So he reached across the table and turned the pages to what he hoped was something that would get Sam Axe's attention.

"You should know the DEA has begun to build a case against Ms. Elsa Dearbon as well. Did you know Westen is apparently cleaning his drug money through your girlfriend's hotels?" He pointed at the relevant page, drawing Sam's unwilling gaze to rows of numbers, some of which were highlighted. "I'd say that was taking advantage of a friendship, wouldn't you? Unless, of course, you already knew about this."

Sam was unable to tear his eyes away from the columns of figures. His complexion paled and then finally he looked up.

"You really think you can make any of this stick?" he growled.

"I'm just trying to explain your situation to you, Mr. Axe... Yours, and Ms. Dearbons," Bly replied, his voice dripping with sympathy.

Sam did his best to contain his anger, but he was fighting against pain and exhaustion and the CSS agent's mocking grin was only making things worse. He knew Bly was just playing with him at the moment, laying out exactly how much trouble he was in before he would offer to help him out for a price.

"Now, moving on from your special lady, who by the way I wouldn't be too worried about." Bly's whole attitude was that of just a guy doing his job. But it wasn't fooling Sam one bit.

The CSS agent continued to drip poison with his every word. "I mean, she has access to some pretty high class legal advisors, who will no doubt be advising her to permanently cease all contact with you. But hey, let's skip over those messy relationship issues and get right to the point: twelve capital murder charges."

Now the gloves are coming off, Sam thought as he shook his head in denial.

"Why are you shaking your head, Mr. Axe? I have pictures if you'd like to review the evidence of what's left of the CIA team that attempted to arrest you all in Panama."

Sam felt his blood run cold as Bly turned over the pages until he came to satellite shots of the scene at the airfield after they had flown away from the scene.

"That is a - -"

"Please, Mr. Axe... I'm not finished explaining how much shit you're about to be buried in," Bly tutted at the interruption to his little show and tell. "Now, the forensic examination of this scene has turned up some very interesting intelligence. Take the chemical analysis of the bomb, for instance. Did you know the explosive element used to kill the tactical team is an exact match to a batch last used in 1978 during a London bombing campaign by the IRA?"

Sam's heart skipped a beat. He had a good idea where the CSS agent was going with his explanation; if he could tie them all to a terrorist organization... He raised his eyes to look across the table to find Bly gazing blandly back at him.

"Now, as I understand it, over the years you've spent a lot time with Ms. Glenanne, who I must say wowed me with her knowledge of blast patterns." Bly paused again while he helpfully turned the page to display more gory images of the scene. "Anyway, what was I saying?... Oh yes, Ms. Glenanne's specialist skill set. I'm sure she has mentioned it to you that bomb-makers tend to have a signature mixture which they rarely stray from."

Sam stared down at the chemical analysis report Bly placed on top of the last lot of photographs.

"The most interesting part of this, Mr. Axe, is that our own experts tell me this particular mix has only ever been tied to two men. Can you guess who those two men were, Sam? May I call you Sam?"

Sam kept his head down, because he was fairly certain that if he looked up he would struggle with the urge to take the grinning CSS agent's head off. First Anson, then Card and now they had Bly snapping at their heels, too. But Jason Bly wasn't finished with him yet and the agent's voice droned on.

"Isn't a strange coincidence that thirty five years later and a continent away, Patrick Glenanne's only daughter just happened to be trying to get out of Panama with the help of Aiden Malloy's only son Kenneth, who happened to lease an aircraft hangar right next to where the explosion took place? So you see, this dossier seals not only your fate, but that of your lady friend and Ms. Glenanne, too. And, on the face of it, I'd say it's pretty damning evidence. It fits together perfectly."

The only sound for several minutes was Sam's deep breathing, as he could do nothing else but stare at everything the CSS agent had laid out before him. Slowly he eased himself back in the chair and arranged his features into a look of unconcern. As bad as it looked, most of it was lies or supposition. Michael was out there somewhere digging up evidence of Card's guilt. Now was not the time to give up hope of getting out from under all the lies.

"It's all bullshit," Sam started, sounding full of false bravado. "And if you believe Mike or any of us would - -" His words dried up as Bly pulled a familiar makeshift recording device out of his pocket.

"To be honest, Sam, I agree with you." Bly lost the smarmy expression and the irritating smile. "This – report in my opinion is all a little too perfect. In my job, I get to read a lot of these mission logs and this - - it looks to me like something that was put together in a rush. Vague details, incomplete data that somebody has carefully manipulated to lead neatly to one conclusion... These things normally take days to read, sort into order and then verify." He shook his head. "But never mind all that, because a few hours ago, this fell into my lap." He pressed the play button and sat back.

"Hello there." Tom Card's voice sounded clearly in the room.  
"Show me your hands, Tom."

Sam looked up, his blood almost freezing when he heard Michael's greeting to his former friend and mentor. As the recording continued to play, Sam's fingers clenched into fists. He had no idea how Michael had managed to control himself after hearing how badly he had been used by the very people he had put all his trust in.

"You did all this? Got me burned?"  
"No, not me. Well, not only me. I was brought into the loop when Rayna Kopec was assassinated... Please tell me you knew that was an assassination?"

Sam couldn't stop the gasp that was ripped from his throat, his chest tightening at the mention of Rayna's name. It had been years since he had heard it. Closing his eyes, he sank back in the chair as Card's gloating tones filled the small room.

"Your old boss nearly nailed them, but she made the fatal mistake of getting noticed. But she must have known they were closing in on her, because before she died, she passed everything she had gathered upstairs... Hey, you want to blame anybody for dragging you into all this? Blame her, kiddo. It was your name she passed up the line....... Michael Westen is in the unique position to gain employment within the organization as I have reason to believe he is already being targeted for recruitment."

He forced down his sorrow. All those years ago, he had been right. He'd known her death had been covered up right from the start. He'd known it, but had been unable to get anybody to believe him, not even Mikey. Taking a gulping breath, he did his best to hide the pain he was feeling from the man sitting across from him. Interrogation was all about seeking out weaknesses in the subject that could be exploited. There was no way on earth he was going to let the sonuvabitch facing him use Rayna Kopec's memory as a tool to get the answers he wanted.

When the recording ended, Bly placed the device back in his jacket pocket and looked sadly at the man sitting across the table. Drawing in a deep breath, the CSS agent let it out in a long sigh. He could tell by Sam Axe's expression, though the older man was doing his best to hide it, that he was hitting close to the mark.

"You know I've worked with Michael before," Bly spoke softly. "And I admit we've had our differences in the past, but you heard the tape. Your friend is in way over his head. If he hadn't gone rogue before the burn notice, he's about to now... Unless you help me bring him in."

When Axe remained silent, Bly pursed his lips shaking his head sadly. Why couldn't these people see he wasn't the enemy here. He turned away and opened the door and then paused, staring back into the room, remembering everything he had read in the Sam Axe dossier.

"I was given that dossier by a friend in the FBI," Bly lied. There was no need for Axe to see his whole hand. "If we can't make a deal, I'll have no choice but to hand you over to them. How long do you think you'll survive in federal prison once Card puts the word out?... But it's not only your life is it, Sam? What about your girlfriend? By the time the DEA and the IRS finish with her. She might escape charges but her reputation will be ruined and she can't afford a high profile scandal in her line of business. I think we both know how quickly that kind of publicity can affect the profitability of her financial investments. It would be such a shame to see her life's work go down the drain like that. Why, I'd be surprised if she wasn't bankrupt in less than a year."

Bly saw a tiny crack appear in Sam's demeanor as the man's fingertips brushed over one of the many surveillance pictures spread out over the small table. Running the tip of his tongue over his lips, the CSS agent tried to widen the crack. "Then there's Ms. Glenanne, she almost threw her life away once to protect Michael Westen. Do you think Fiona could survive another stay in federal prison? Only this time it would be in a British maximum security prison. Though the way I understand it, MI6 wants to use her to get to her brothers... I think they intend parading her around Belfast as a poster child for Anglo-Irish relations. The IRA terrorist who fell in love with an American spy and assisted the British government in destroying the Real IRA back in the nineties... It makes a great story, doesn't it? …. unless, of course, you happened to have been a member of the Real IRA. You know, it's crazy what a long memory those people have. They really know how to hang onto a grudge, don't they?"

Sam shuddered involuntarily thinking about what would happen to Fiona in her present condition under those circumstances.

"Friendship and loyalty are all very well, Sam. But sometimes you have to do things to help people they might not agree with." Bly had seen the shudder and made one last attempt to reach out to the ex-SEAL. "I'm sure Michael's done things lately that you haven't agreed with. Tell me this... How do you see this ending for Michael if he goes off the reservation? What will happen when the bodies start piling up again and I think we can both agree based on what you just heard in that recording that sooner or later the bodies will start piling up again. How do you see that ending, Sam? How do you think his mother would survive losing both her sons? I don't know about you, but I think I'd like to know that I had done everything I could to prevent it."

Sam stared straight ahead. He hated that everything the CSS agent said made sense. Listening to his best friend's voice filled with so much anger and desperation had made his blood run cold and it almost made him sick to hear Card blithely confess that the Agency had used Mike like that. What else had Card told him after the recording came to an end? Michael was definitely teetering on the edge – and if he went over? The ex-SEAL blinked and sighed. It went against everything he believed in, loyalty, friendship, brotherhood...

But if Michael stepped over the edge... wasn't it his job as his best friend to pull him back? Could Jesse really handle the ex-spy, keep him from going over into the darkness once again?

No, he was going to have to be there to stop his friend from going down that path. Sam looked up as the door closed behind the CSS agent. Fiona was going to kill him for what he was about to do.

"Bly! Get your ass back in here and tell me what you want me to do."

The door opened instantly and Sam bit down on his lip. The sneaky bastard must have been waiting for him to break.

"Well, I'm glad to see someone has Michael Westen's best interests at heart."

"Don't push it, fella. I'm doing this for Mikey and, before I say a word, I want some guarantees in place or no deal."

Bly sat down, eager to speed things along. "So, tell me what you want." He saw no point in pushing any harder. The ex-SEAL had done all the courses on resisting interrogation and on negotiation. Things would go easier for all concerned if they both stopped playing games and just got down to business.

"You leave Elsa out of this completely. We both know Mike isn't dealing drugs or washing money through her hotel accounts. You call off the DEA, IRS and all the other alphabet agencies you've put onto her... And you leave Fiona out of all this too. She won't talk to you and she's gonna to kill me for doing this."

"Ms. Dearbon has nothing to worry about as far as I'm concerned." Bly shrugged before adding, "But I can't stop Card from going after her, so the sooner you start helping - -"

Sam held up a hand, stopping Bly's words. "Okay, you do what you can to keep Elsa out of it. Now, about Fiona..."

Bly shook his head. "Ms. Glenanne may have information - -"

"Uh-huh, buddy, she's out of it, all of it. She gets her papers, her immunity and her anonymity. Period. "

Bly blinked. Interesting, he thought and then smiled easily. "I'll tell you what, for now I'll stay away from both of them – – as long as they stay on Palm Island out of trouble and where I can keep an eye on them."

"How did you - -?"

"Same way we caught you, through your cell phone. When you called Barry, you thought your banker wasn't answering your calls, which would have been the smart play for him. But we have a program that allows us to trick you into thinking there's no answer while we track you down. Your little lady is very concerned for your safety. Any how, if those are your only conditions, I - -"

"Ah-huh, we've not finished yet. I want you to guarantee that Mikey will be treated fairly. Everything, and I mean everything, no more sweeping it all under the rug to save the Agency's ass, everything that happened in Panama, and before, Anson's death, what happened to Nate... it all comes out that it was that sonuvabitch Card." It was then that Sam realized there was one name missing from everything that had been said. "Where's Jesse?"

Bly raised an eyebrow. "As far as I'm aware, Mr. Porter is in CIA, or more than likely Tom Card's hands. He was last seen being manhandled by two men into a large dark colored SUV."

Sam nodded solemnly, knowing there was nothing they could do to help his friend out without letting Card know that he was being investigated, which brought to mind his next question.

"Two things before I say yes and spill my guts to you, Bly. Do you have the clout to pull this off or are we all going to end up in Gitmo together?"

Visions of appearing before Congressman Cowley with everything the man had asked for and more flitted through Jason Bly's mind for a moment before he answered. "I can promise you this, life as my witnesses will be far more pleasant than whatever Tom Card has in mind for all of you. What's your other concern, Sam?"

"Do you have the slightest idea how to find Mike?"


	19. Alliances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Jason Bly works on forging alliances in his effort to clear out the rot infesting the CIA, Michael & co, are working on escaping the hotel as the terror group close in on their position.

Unlike criminals, spies are trained to work with their captors to negotiate their own release. In most cases, it simply requires you stay calm, relaxed and be as helpful as possible.......

At the end of a grueling four hours in an interrogation room with Jason Bly, Sam Axe lay back on a surprisingly comfortable mattress in a six by eight cell with his good arm flung carelessly over his eyes as he tried to get some rest. The nausea inducing ache from his bullet shredded bicep had been reduced to a dull throb thanks to the doctor that CSS Agent Bly had eventually called in to check him over. But not even the mind numbing medication he'd been given would allow him to switch off completely.

Once he had agreed in principal to spill his guts to Bly, they had then spent the next two hours hashing out the details of a mutually acceptable deal which the CSS agent could take to his bosses. By the end of it all, Sam hoped he had gotten all his friends something they could live with.

He knew Fiona was going to hate him for agreeing to anything Jason Bly had to offer. But she still thought they had a way out of the web they were tangled in and maybe there was a way out, but it would mean crossing a line he wasn't prepared to cross and if Michael hadn't killed Tom Card on sight it meant his best friend wasn't ready to step over into the dark either.

He had been at Michael's side from the very beginning, aiding his friend in any way he could in an effort to get the unjustified burn notice removed from around the ex-spy's neck. But every time they thought it was over, another bad guy far worse than the last would pop up out of hole. He was so sick of seeing what the stress of so much betrayal was doing to his best friend. He just couldn't do it any more. The way things were going, sooner or later they were all going to end up dead trying to fight their way clear of all the lies and conspiracies.

And it wasn't just the threat to their own lives. They were pulling more and more of their friends and family down with them. Nate died because of the danger Anson Fullerton posed to Tom Card and others like him. Barry Burkowski was being held under lock and key, along with Elsa's security guard David Geary.

The images of Brady Pressman, driving away just before his car was turned into an inferno by a Maverick missile sent to kill them all, and Aiden Malloy, blowing himself up, making a noble sacrifice to save his family, played before his closed eyes.

This last act had weighed heavy on Sam's soul. The deaths of the CIA agents who were most likely just following orders did not sit well with the ex-SEAL. He had no idea if they had been knowingly working with Card, but he suspected they had been fed some sort of bull by the Chief of Operations, painting Michael as a rogue agent.

And now, if Bly's dossier was to be believed, Elsa was about to be dragged through the dirt, too, and it just wasn't in him to ruin the life of the woman he loved.

Rubbing his hand over his eyes, Sam let out a long shuddering breath. There came a time when you just had to say enough was enough. When the cost of continuing the fight was just too much too bear. Elsa... Fiona and her unborn child... Madeline.... Madeline who had already lost one son; what would the death of her one remaining child do to her? 

Sam closed his eyes and searched for a little bit of peace, trying to clear his mind and get some much needed sleep. He knew as soon as Bly came back to him with a workable deal, there would be one round of questions after another probably right up to the time Tom Card was brought before a congressional hearing.

Letting out a long drawn out sigh, he screwed his eyes shut and silently cursed the over head light which had yet to be turned out and tried yet again to get some rest.

It had been just before midnight that there had been a light knock on the door to the interrogation room. He had watched as Bly held a whispered conversation with the newcomer and, when the CSS agent had returned to the table, he had a familiar cell phone in his hand.

"I need you to make a call... I've received word the ladies out on Palm Island are about to make a move." 

The weight of the phone being dropped into his hand had felt more like that of thirty pieces of silver than a thin moulded plastic encasing a few tiny electronic circuit boards and wires. Bly had picked up on his hesitation and leaned over the table. 

"Mr Axe, I thought we'd been through all this? If you don't want to cooperate, that's fine by me, really... Instead of trying to keep all your asses out of jail, I can make a call to the F.B.I and let them know I've got one of Michael Westen's accomplices in custody and I have the location of another two. That way you can take your chances in the federal penal system, or you can make the call and keep Ms Dearbon and Ms Glenanne safe overnight." 

He'd felt like a traitor when he'd put the phone on loud speaker as Bly requested and pressed the call button. 

"Hey, sweetheart." He'd spoken as soon as Elsa answered the call, doing his best to sound light hearted. But even to his own ears, the good cheer sounded false.

"Sammy! Where are you? What's happened? I've been calling-" He could hear the concern in her voice with every word and he'd had to hold himself together as he listened as her panicked questions had run into each other. In the end, he'd managed to get a word in and had asked her if Fiona was in the room.

"No... She's upstairs, getting her shoes. We were about to come looking for you. Do you want –?"

"No – no, listen pumpkin, there's no problem. We've just got a little caught up, that's all... We're gonna stay in the city over night... Just listen. I need you to tell Fiona that I called and everything is fine. I'll be back in the morning, so just stay put until I get there."

"Sam?" she'd questioned her voice full of fear.

"I'll be in touch in morning. Sweetheart... It's late you should both get some sleep." He'd blinked and then added without caring what Bly thought. "Love you." He'd ended the call and then turned on the smirking CSS agent. "Happy now?"

"You did the right thing, Sam," Bly had commented as he'd taken the phone back. "Now it's late and there is a bed in a cell waiting for you down the hall. I'll even have a doctor come in and look at your arm."

Bly had escorted him along several corridors until they came to a row of rooms with the door locks on the outside. 

"It's a little cramped I know, but I'm sure you're too tired to want to exercise." Bly stood to one side. "Here's some reading material you might want to study carefully." He'd handed him a thick folder which Sam'd recognized as Tom Card's dossier on Michael and the rest of them. "There'll be a quiz on it tomorrow," had been his parting comment.

The doctor had turned up with an armed guard, who stood by while a fresh dressing was applied to his arm and a much needed dose of strong pain medication was injected into his body... He had hoped the drug would allow him to sleep, but he was wrong.

With a sigh of frustration, Sam gave up on the idea of sleep and propped himself up before reaching for the dossier Bly had left in the cell with him. When he had started reading, all he wanted to do was to see how bad things actually were... But as he skimmed through the pages, he began to wish he had just taken Bly's word on it as he realized just how serious Card was in setting them all up to never see daylight again.

With a sound of disgust, Sam threw the dossier onto the floor and slumped back, deep in thought. Card had them screwed seven ways to Sunday. Basically unless they could discredit the evil sonuvabitch, there wasn't a chance of them proving their innocence.

And even if by some miracle they did manage to convince enough people that Card had lied, there was still the fact a twelve man team of CIA agents had been killed and the MI6 extradition request, which would see Fiona made into a target for every enemy she had made in Ireland and the UK.

As he wiped a hand over his weary eyes, he was supremely grateful when the lights finally went out.

()()()()

The measured click-clack, of what Fiona guessed were the high heels of Elsa Dearbon pacing about the ground floor, woke the Irish woman up from what had been a good nights sleep. Staring up at the ceiling of her bedroom, Fiona watched the tiny particles of dust dance and shimmer in the early morning rays of sunlight which streamed into the room through the large uncovered window.

"I could get used to this," she thought as she stretched out, arching her back off the bed, reveling in the warmth and the blissful feeling of peace which filled her soul.

She knew it wouldn't, or rather couldn't, last. There were too many enemies circling. As soon as she got up and dressed, she had plans to visit one of the few gunrunners she thought might still trust her enough to loan her some hardware and then she was going ignore all the advice she had received from all the well meaning people in her life and join in the search for Michael and Jesse.

And if at some point during her day the smarmy weasel face of Tom Card happened to stray into her cross-hairs, she wouldn't waste the opportunity to solve all their problems with one well placed bullet. With that happy thought in filling her mind, Fiona sat up and slid out bed.

Moving over to stand before the large window, she looked out over what would some day be a large family yard, her gaze lost in the deep blue of the clear Miami sky, the same crystal blue color as Michael's eyes; it was as if he was staring back at her. Biting down on her bottom lip, her hand drifted over her stomach and she realized for the first time in two days that the soreness had disappeared. Looking down, unsure if the lack of muscle tearing cramps was a good thing or not, she ran both hands over the flat planes of her belly and torso.

"What do you mean, you're still looking into it?! You're the head of the Intelligence Oversight Committee. I meant what I said, Bill. I've never asked you for anything before whereas you -. I understand, I'm not a fool -. Tomorrow, if I don't hear from you by tomorrow, I may have to review who deserves the sup - See that you do... Goodbye, Bill."

Fiona was jerked out of her reverie by Elsa's clipped angry tones floating up from the floor below. It sounded like the crafty Congressman had just got an earful from an angry hotelier. Letting out a sigh, she turned away from the window and picked up her clothes from the end of the bed.

Maybe it was time to stop daydreaming and find out what news if any Elsa had gotten from the Head of the IOC.

Fifteen minutes later, after taking a quick shower and making herself as presentable as possible with her limited resources, Fiona made her way downstairs. Following the smell of freshly made coffee, she found Elsa standing in the kitchen, holding a cup of coffee in one hand while the other still gripped her phone.

The chief executive had obviously arrived prepared for a long stay. Her brown hair was carefully arranged in a smart up do and her face made up with discrete expertly applied make up. A dark blue power suit with a white silk blouse and four inch high blue Chanel heels completed her ensemble.

"Good morning, I hope I didn't disturb you. I called Bill Cowley to see if he had found out anything, but all he would say was matters of security have to be handled delicately... I swear the damn man is stonewalling me." Elsa let out a sigh and reached for the coffee pot standing on a work bench against the wall. "Do you want a drink?" she asked.

"Thank you. You're rather over dressed for another day lounging around a building site," Fiona commented as she accepted the steaming hot beverage the older woman handed her.

"I have a meeting scheduled with the head of sales and marketing at ten... I was hoping Sam was going to be back by now."

"Don't worry about Sam. He can look after himself." Fiona tried to offer some reassurance. "How about I come back to the hotel with you? That way while you get to have your meetings, I can spend the day trying to track down Michael. Sam will call when he has some news."

"He said we should wait for him... But it's nine o'clock now and -" Elsa left the sentence unfinished as she checked the time on her wristwatch. "I can't wait." She huffed, a frustrated scowl marring her perfectly made up features.

"Sam will understand. He probably isn't even awake yet." Fiona took a quick sip of her bitter, black unsweetened coffee and put the cup down. She had her own worries about what game Sam Axe was playing with his late night phone call. She suspected it was just a ploy to keep her on Palm Island babysitting Elsa.

"Let's go." She held out a hand for the keys to Elsa's vehicle.

Fiona drove the large four door luxury sedan out of the drive way and instantly was forced to come to a stop as a black SUV seemingly came out of nowhere and pulled up across the front of her vehicle. Inside were two men in dark colored suits, their eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses.

"Hold on," Fiona snapped out the order, her hand seeking out the reverse gear while her foot stamped down on the gas pedal.

With a squeal of protest, the sedan shot backwards and then just as suddenly leapt forwards again, clipping the front of the blocking SUV as Fiona sent the vehicle over the curb and onto the road before racing off towards the gatehouse and the MacArthur Causeway. She knew it was a desperate long shot, but if she could maneuver through the traffic, they might make it off the causeway before whoever was chasing them could set up roadblocks.

"Oh my God! Fiona, who are they? Shouldn't we stop? Maybe if - Arrgghh!" Elsa's cries of panic were cut off when her seatbelt suddenly tighten slamming her firmly back in her seat as Fiona stamped down hard on the brakes sending the car into a squealing skid.

Four unmarked black sedans blocked the way off Palm Island and, as Fiona brought the car to a sliding stop, the SUV with the damaged front end came up behind them, blocking them in.

Fiona slammed her hands on the steering wheel. "Sonuvabitch!" She cursed and then wound her window down as a man with a gun cautiously approached the car and tapped on the window.

"Ma'am, if you'll go back to the house, please. Someone will be a long to speak to you shortly."

"Who-?" she demanded angrily.

"Just go back to the house please." The man was calm, professional and to Fiona he reeked of being a government drone. "It's for your own safety, ma'am."

Snorting in anger, she reversed back narrowly missing the SUV and once she had turned around, much to her disgust, they were boxed in by other vehicles and escorted back to the house.

"Who are they?" Elsa asked worriedly, as she peered out of the window at the cars and the armed men surrounding them.

Fiona shook her head. She wasn't sure. They didn't strike her as Card's men. If Tom Card knew where she was, he would have her in chains to keep Michael in line. He definitely wouldn't be driving over for a visit.

"I don't know... FBI, Homeland Security, CIA. Let's get inside while I work out how we're getting out of this."

"What if you jump out, do you -" Elsa babbled.

Fiona shook her head. "No, there's too many of the them." Then she offered up a grim smile. "Besides if I got away, Sam would kill me for leaving you behind."

"Maybe if I call Bill Crowley he might be -" Elsa reached for her phone and discovered there was no signal. "They're jamming our phones."

"And the hits just keep coming," Fiona muttered angrily. "I guess we'll just have to wait and see who crawls out of the woodwork."

Turning onto the driveway, they drove back into the garage and let themselves back inside through the kitchen door. Thankfully their guards stayed outside, preferring to watch the property from a discrete distance.

While Elsa sank down onto a chair, at a loss about what to do, Fiona paced around the room like a caged animal, her mind running amok with theories about which of the alphabet soup agencies had taken them prisoner.

"You should try to get some rest," Elsa commented softly. "You must remember your condition."

Fiona stopped in her tracks and let out a long sigh.

"It's my condition that's the problem." she explained. "If these people find out - they'll turn it into leverage against Michael - I have to get out of here before they find out." She remembered the horrors of what had happened to her while in prison and the thought of going through all that while pregnant caused tears to spring into her eyes.

So much for feeling back to normal. She tried to brush off her emotions. Instead she reminded herself of the story of how, during what was known as the Border campaign, her mother Maeve, six months pregnant with her third child, held back four Ulster Volunteer Force paramilitaries with a pistol and a shotgun while her five year old eldest son reloaded for her and her second child clung onto her skirts.

Blinking away the tears, she forced down all her fears. She was a Glenanne and Glenanne women had been having babies and dealing with absentee husbands and enemy government agencies ever since the beginning of the twentieth century. She would not be the first one to fall to pieces and disgrace her family name.

She was drawn out of her thoughts by the sound of two cars pulling onto the drive way and that was when she saw Agent Jason Bly at the side of an unshaven and disheveled Sam Axe. An explosion of rage rose up inside of her like an blazing inferno. She was literally seeing red by the time Bly and Sam walked through the front door. Without thinking, her hand reached out and snatched up one of the empty coffee cups and, as Elsa screamed, the furious Irishwoman hurled the cup at Sam Axe's head.

"Hey! Hey, missy, wait a damned minute -" Sam ducked as a can opener quickly followed the cup. "Goddammit, Fi, gimme a chance to talk, will ya?" He strode forward and caught hold of her throwing arm and held it above her head until she stopped fighting. "Quit it, Tinkerbelle! – Jeez, oww!" He let go off her arm as her foot connected sharply with his shin.

"Yes, Sam, please explain what you're doing here with him!" she spat out, then pushed past the smirking CSS agent and stalked into the living room.

With eyes filled with unadulterated fury, she sat down on the couch, her back rigidly upright and her arms crossed over her chest. She waited, her body quivering with an almost burning need to hurt somebody. Sam had brought this man... no, not a man. He had led this snake in the grass right to her... He had led one of Michael's enemies straight to his unborn child.

Slowly the other players in the drama followed her into the room, Sam choosing to sit down close to Elsa and reached out to hold her hand, his calm expression and gentle touch reassuring the wealthy hotelier that, however bad things were looking now, it would all turn out all right in the end.

Bly stood in the center of the room with his hands clasped together in front of him, his expression neutral. But there was a spark of humor in his eyes aimed at Fiona Glenanne. However, after a moment to let calm settle over the group, he turned his gaze towards Elsa.

"Ms Dearbon, let me introduce myself. My name is Jason Bly and I am an agent with the CSS, which is a branch of the NSA which -" he swallowed and grinned. "Let's not get into all that just now... Let's just say I'm the man who is offering you all a chance to avoid a very lengthy stay in prison."

Fiona snorted loudly and, when he paused to look in her direction, she glared back at him, making her loathing clear. Clearing his throat, Bly continued.

"At present, I'm in charge of an investigation looking into the recent activities of Mr Axe's and Ms Glenanne's friend, Michael Westen." He paused, but as he got no response which wasn't surprising given the circumstances, he pushed on. "I've already explained the whole situation to Mr Axe and he has had the sense to realize that I am your only hope of getting out of this nasty mess with a life at the end of it."

"Is that what he's promised you Sam? And you fell for his bullshit?" Fiona's voice was full of scorn.

"Fi, you don't know what we're facing here, there's more -"

"More?! Of course there's more to this – there always is. Especially where he's concerned." She threw Bly a look of pure hatred.

"You think I would betray Mike like this on a whim?! Card has them, that sonuvabitch has Mike and Jesse!" Sam blurted out and he instantly felt bad as Fiona went pale and for a moment he thought she was going to faint. He also bit down on his lip when he saw the calculating way Bly was studying the Irish woman.

"I'm sorry, Fi," he softened his tone. "But we're out of moves. Bly has a recording... it's part of a conversation between Mike and Card and, I tell ya, Card has got into Mikey's head. The bastard has also handed the Feds a dossier that paints all of us as traitors. There are photographs, mission logs... hell, what's in that file could get us all locked up for the rest of our lives. He's set up Elsa, too." Sam squeezed her hand as he continued. "I'm sorry Elsa, baby. Card has handed over evidence to the DEA and the IRS incriminating you in a money laundering scam."

Fiona bit down on her next comment as she thought about the bombshell Sam had just dropped on her. Michael and Jesse were in Cards hands... Why hadn't Michael just shot the bastard? And Card had set up all of them to spend a lifetime in prison. She turned her attention to Bly, who seemed happy to let Sam deal with the brunt of her anger. She remembered the last time he had shown her an official looking dossier: an autopsy report detailing Michael's life ending injuries due to an explosion.

"So what's your part in this?" she asked him, her tones clipped and unfriendly. 

"As I explained, I am looking into Michael Westen's relationship with Operations Chief Card."

"You're looking into locking up Michael and throwing away the key," she countered harshly. If it hadn't been for her knowledge of explosives...

Bly smiled ruefully. He always knew Fiona Glenanne would be a hard sell. She had a deep and abiding hatred of all government officials, even though she had ended up falling in love with one.

"Only if he deserves it and believe me when I say Sam here is playing down the charges you're all facing. What is in that dossier could easily get everyone of you the death penalty."

He paused and waited to see if Ms Glenanne was going to comment, but she remained quiet so he continued. "However the recording which fell into my lap has changed my mind on several issues."

"Agent Bly, I am a close friend of Congressman Cowley -" Elsa spoke up. She tried to sound firm and business like, but in the face of the serious charges being leveled on her, she couldn't hide the slight tremor in her tone.

"Well, good for you, Ms Dearbon, but I can assure you that friendship will not stop an investigation into your finances," Bly informed her. "Not to mention that you are at present harboring fugitives wanted by the FBI."

Elsa paled at this, as it suddenly became very clear and real to her what she had got herself into. She turned to Sam with a stricken expression, hoping that he was right and he was going to get them out of all this.

"So, get to it, Bly. You wouldn't be here talking to us unless you wanted something." Fiona was made of sterner stuff and the threat of life imprisonment was not going to scare her, at least she wasn't going to let him know how frightened she really was.

"The deal, Ms Glenanne, you'll be pleased to hear is simple. You and Mr Axe tell me everything you know about Michael's relationship with Operations Chief Card and all about what happened before, during and after Panama and in return I will do my best to keep you all out of jail and protected as my witnesses."

"And you believe him?" She glared at Sam. How could he be so stupid as to trust a single word Bly said?

"There are no moves left on the board, Fi," Sam answered her flatly, his tone deadly serious. "And Mikey knew it. Why do you think he tried to go off on his own? He was taking us all out of the game."

"He took Jesse,"she spat back, still furious at Michael for leaving her behind.

Sam bit down on his lip. "I think Jesse invited himself, sister, and I think you should be grateful the big guy went along... You know what was on Mike's mind."

She turned to Bly again. "None of this would have happened if you'd listened to me last time. But you were more concerned with setting up Michael than-"

"I was trying to get to the truth and, believe it or not, I was trying to stop you throwing your life away. But right now I don't have the luxury of a lot of time. So you're just going to have to take my word for it that if you turn down my offer, your stay in Allarod will seem like a walk in the park compared to what you're facing now. Tom Card is not a man to be underestimated. He has put together a pretty compelling case and has the power to have you all disappear."

Fiona didn't want to believe anything Jason Bly had to say, but unlike the last time she had faced him, she couldn't detect a lie in his words or in his body language. Sam Axe had obviously bought into the CSS agents' present line of bull. She looked up to find Bly watching her, his expression verging on sympathetic; it was a look which made her want to hit him all the more.

"This is my very generous offer. You will answer every one of my questions and give any assistance I ask for. In return, you will be my witnesses. You'll be under the protection of the CSS. In time, once we get to the bottom of what the hell is going on, you will be released to live your lives more or less how you want. If you choose to reject this lifeline, there are federal warrants out for both your arrests. I'll just give you the highlights: twelve counts of capital murder and large scale drug trafficking, both of which carry the death penalty. Ms Dearbon, unfortunately for you, you'll most likely be tried as an accessory to your boyfriend's crimes, along with your employee David Geary who was captured with Mr. Axe outside a storage locker containing several illegal weapons and explosives."

There was silence as they looked at each other. Fiona could see why Sam had caved in. She understood and, as she stared into space, she too realized she had no choice. As much as she hated it, she was going to have to agree. Only in her case, she was going to run at the first opportunity she got. She simply didn't trust Bly... She still had the occasional nightmare about the autopsy report he had thrust under her nose.

"Agent Bly, before I agree to any of your terms, I want to know what you have done with David," Elsa demanded.

"Mr Geary will be joining you shortly, Ms Dearbon, once we have a deal. His situation has been explained to him and he has already agreed to remain in this house with you and Ms Glenanne while this investigation is being completed. I must make one thing very clear to you all. You are all in extreme danger. Tom Card has his own people out searching for you. Until Michael is here and talking to me, you are all at risk."

()()()()

Meanwhile Michael was fighting his own battle........

With the echoing bang of the grenade he'd just tossed into the hotel stairwell still resonating in his skull, Michael Westen ran for the elevator shaft. Behind him, the muted screams of the injured and dying were being masked behind the sound of even more gunfire which he hoped signalled the arrival of the Indian army, finally launching their own rescue of the hostages.

Reaching the elevator shaft seconds after Jesse's head disappeared from view, the ex-spy took a quick look down into the darkness to where his companions were hastily pulling detonators out of the sticks of dynamite scattered about their escape route.

As a couple of shots came towards him, Michael edged his way onto the narrow inspection ladder and began his own descent into the dingy abyss. Below him, he could hear a whispered conference taking place between Dani and Jesse as they worked to open the doors to the twelfth floor. While off to one side Halliday was still removing detonators from nearby sticks of dynamite in an effort to reduce the explosion that was sure to come if the army returned power before clearing and securing the building.

"You two can catch up later. Get the damn doors open, Jesse!" Michael hissed and then winced as his foot slipped and the movement caused a pull on his still damaged ribs from his treatment in Panama.

"Westen, there is -" Pearce stopped trying to explain and instead pointed to the main cables hanging down the center of the shaft.

Michael had seen the det cord which was twisted around the cables, but now he saw a metal case attached to them and the antennae sticking out of the side. A bomb, with a remote trigger, sealed inside a metal box just out of reach dangling between the eleventh and twelfth floors.

"Can you defuse it?" Jesse asked, not bothering to hide his fear.

Michael shook his head. Maybe if a certain auburn haired hell cat with a love of explosives was at his side, but not on his own.

"No, there's no time. We have to get out of here," he called back. "Get the doors open."

Besides, he tried to convince himself, even with Fiona's expertise, there was no easy way to reach the bomb and he hadn't packed the tools necessary to disarm the device. It suddenly struck him that this wasn't the first time he had wished Fiona was at his side and, regardless how much he wished it was different, he knew it wouldn't be the last time he missed her company.

Michael mentally shook himself and forced all thoughts of Fiona out of his mind. With the discovery of a device which could bring down the whole building on top of them, it was now more important than ever they got out of the shaft and reached the hostages. Then, maybe with a bit of luck, they would reach the army in time and the Indian military would have access to the experts who could defuse the bomb. Clambering down the ladder to join the other two, he worked with them to free the latch which would allow them to slide the doors open manually.

As a narrow gap appeared, they could hear the voices of panicked and angry terrorists and the crackle of their guns firing into the stairwell, followed by the cries of fear from the hostages who knew their deaths were coming soon.

With Jesse behind him and Halliday on the other door with Pearce standing behind the CSS agent, they slowly opened the doors and stepped into the lobby of the twelfth floor ready to open fire. The hallway was in chaos, far worse than Michael had envisaged. Four of the terrorists were already dead, their bloody bullet riddled bodies sprawled on the floor, and three more were being kept busy firing out on the stairs. Another two were standing guard over the hostages, who were all sitting in a small alcove. It was these two men who turned to face Michael and his team as they stepped into the open.

What occurred next happened so fast there was no time to think, only time to react.

With bullets firing everywhere as the terrorists turned towards these new intruders, several of the braver hostages took advantage of their guards turning their backs and launched their own assault ambushing their captors from behind and dragging them to the ground.

As the men fell back under the tide of angry, frightened men and women out for retribution, their guns continued to spray bullets towards Michael's group who had very few places to find cover.

Dani Pearce felt the hot air of one such bullet pass by her cheek and she fell backwards, her heels teetering on the edge of the shaft just before she lost the fight to gravity Halliday half turned and managed to grab hold of her hand to stop her falling. They locked eyes and then, as he dragged her away from the edge, she was thrown to the floor with Halliday landing heavily on top of her.

Seeing Dani fall to the floor and a spray of blood splatter on the wall above her head, Jesse lost all focus on the battle and, without thinking, he reached down and pulled Halliday off her.

"Thank god!" he gasped as he saw she was alive and unhurt.

But then his heart sunk as he realized Halliday wasn't moving. The man's back was slowly turning crimson as blood sluggishly leaked from a wound between his shoulder blades.

Meanwhile Michael was unaware of anything other than the three men before him as he single handedly attacked the terrorists at the door to the stairwell. He had already emptied his assault rifle, firing so rapidly that his targets were unable to accurately return fire. He was about to drop his rifle and reach for his handgun when he realized the firing had stopped and all three men lay dead.

He turned to face his team and saw Pearce and Jesse at Halliday's side as blood pooled around the young man. Michael instantly hardened his heart. He could only think of Halliday as an asset. He had known the man for less then an hour. He had no room left in him to mourn another death. A vision of his little brother laying on a cold pavement, bleeding out in his arms, forced its way to the surface and he fought it back down while he continued to watch the scene unravel before him.

How Jesse's hand lay over Pearce's as they worked together in an effort to save the CSS agent's life... His own hands covered in warm blood, his sibling's brown eyes begging him to make it all better. The life draining out of his baby brother's body... 

Michael blinked the vision away, as behind him he heard the shouts and commands of the Indian soldiers entering the floor. He dropped his weapons and raised his hands high above his head as he shouted out clearly in Urdu that they were Americans and had been hostages.

"Pearce! You wanta come over here and let them know we're the good guys." Michael called out as an Indian Captain demanded to know who he was and what he was doing with all the fire power.

As soon as Dani Pearce was at his side and flashing her credentials, claiming both himself and Jesse as employees in her counterfeiting task force, Michael left her to deal with the captain while he went to where Jesse was still kneeling beside Halliday.

As soon as Michael saw the massive exit wound in Halliday's chest, he knew the man was as good as dead. Dropping down, he looked into the younger man's pain-filled eyes and listened to his raspy rapid breaths, desperately trying not to see the similarities to another recent death.

Jesse was still working to put pressure on the wound and and talking to the dying man, trying to convince the CSS agent that he would live.

"Jesse," Michael spoke softly, "Jess, let him go." He gently took hold of his friend's hands and eased them away from the wound.

"No, no, he'll be -" Jesse looked at him in shock.

"No, he won't," Michael answered firmly.

Just then, the dying man stared up at him and feebly grabbed at Michael's arm. "Bly – h-help you – s-somebody – CIA – or-der-ed h-it on Full-er- Bly, t-ta-" Halliday's eyes glazed over and his muscles went slack as he gave up the fight.

Michael gently closed the agent's eyes and sat back on his heels. He was now going to have to add Jason Bly and the CSS to the people and agencies hunting him down. There was no way Bly wouldn't hold him responsible for his subordinates death when he found out his man had been killed. With a sigh, he got wearily to his feet. If Bly hadn't been his enemy before, he would be now.

()()()()

Fifteen minutes later, they along with the rest of the hostages who were able to walk were being escorted out of the hotel and across the road to where the army had set up their base of operations, while inside the high rise building the battle raged on between the army and the last hold outs on the upper floors.

"We have to get out of here," Michael announced to the other two. "We're already running late."

The ex-spy knew from his previous experience with Tom Card that the man expected all his missions to be run by his book and rescuing Dani Pearce had not been the top priority for the Operations Chief Card. They needed to get back on task, pick up Card's thief and get back to the US as quickly as possible.

"Running late for what?" Pearce asked. She was facing him her arms folded over her chest while her features looking tired and drawn. It had been a long couple of days for her and it was obvious that she was in no mood for any of his subterfuge.

Michael looked about the small room. Nobody was paying them any attention. The ex-hostages were all gathered in small groups and were still in shock.

"Mike, I don't think now -" Jesse's words died on his lips as both spies glared back at him.

"Yes, Jesse, now is the perfect time to tell me what is going on," she shot back and then turned all her attention back onto Michael.

"Okay," Michael eyed his old agency contact. "But before I tell you anything, how about you tell me how well you know Tom Card?"

Pearce bristled. She wasn't used to being the one giving the answers, but she could see how close to the edge Michael was and how much strain Jesse was being put under, too. So she decided to be completely open with both of them.

"After my fiancé Jay was murdered... like I told you before, I was going to quit the agency. I was disillusioned with the whole thing... But they brought in Tom to speak to me. He worked with me, taking me all the way back to the basics, reminding me what it was that I loved about this job and he convinced me stay on. He is a good man, Westen. He listened and he helped me deal with my grief. I'm sorry, Michael, but you're mistaken about him. Tom Card is not the devil you're making him out to be."

Mr. Porter could see the effect her words were having on his grim friend and he jumped in quickly before the Card's former trainee could speak.

"I'm sorry, Dani, but he's not the saint you think he is," Jesse countered softly. "He might have been at one time, but not any more. He's not the man you remember..." He laid a hand on her wrist as she started to shake her head. "I made that recording. I heard what Card said when he thought he was alone with Mike. I was grabbed by Card's men and stuck in a holding cell. Dani, do you trust me?"

Agent Pearce looked from Jesse's sincere gaze to Mike's stoic scowl and back. The tension and the silence hung in the air palpably. Finally, Michael cleared his throat. It was obviously difficult for him to form the words.

"Tom Card was my training officer. I trusted him with my life then and I trusted him when I went to him to..." He couldn't finish his sentence. The weight of the betrayal that had apparently been going on for decades was too much for him. He swallowed thickly and tried to continue.

"Dani," Jesse jumped in. "You're not the only one Card's pulled the wool on. He set up us. He sent us all to Panama to get fragged by a missile. He tried to kill all of us to cover his own ass and we weren't even supposed to be here to save you. You were just a bargaining chip to get us to do his dirty work-. Dani, believe me when I tell you Card is the guy playin' us. He wants us all in a body bag or a black hole."

Pearce was still finding it hard to believe the man who had done so much for her, who had done so much for his country, could be the monster they were painting him as. She pursed her lips and, without meaning to, found herself staring into Jesse Porter's brown eyes. Her head was telling her Tom Card was a highly decorated agent, who had risen up from being a brilliant field agent to a training officer and eventually to become a Chief of Operations. He would never betray his country by lining his pockets at the expense of US interests.

And yet a pair of deep brown eyes were telling her she was wrong.

"Where's the tape?" she asked. She needed to see, or rather hear, the truth of the matter. She needed to hear Tom incriminating himself in treason.

"I have it somewhere safe, back in Miami," Michael answered. "If I play the tape for you, will you help us?"

She nodded. "If you have the tape, I'll do what I can to help you get it to somebody who can use it."

The change in Michael was instantaneous as the tension left his body.

"Thank you," he breathed.

"Don't thank me yet, Westen. I was sent out here in disgrace. Finding somebody willing to talk to me, let alone be willing to go up against Tom Card, isn't going to be easy."

"But it will be easier than before," Jesse added, resisting the urge to pull Dani Pearce into his arms.


	20. Return of the Lone Wolf

Congressman Bill Cowley closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. He wondered just how much worse his day was going to get. He was beginning to wish he had never heard the name "Elsa Dearbon," or that of her trouble-making boyfriend, Sam Axe. His ears were still ringing from the early morning phone call from Ms. Dearbon demanding answers regarding Axe's whereabouts.

"What do you mean, you're still looking into it?! You're the head of the Intelligence Oversight Committee. I meant what I said, Bill. I've never asked you for anything before whereas you -"

"Elsa, you have to understand, you're asking for sensitive, classified information. I'm looking into Axe's whereabouts for you. It might just take some time," he had tried to explain, all the while reminding himself how much money she had personally donated to his war chest.

"I understand that. I'm not a fool -."

"No, no, I'm not saying you're a fool, but what you're asking for isn't going to be- - -"   
And there also how she set aside an entire floor of the Chadwick hotel for his team's use during the last election to consider as well.

"Tomorrow, if I don't hear from you by tomorrow, I may have to review who deserves the sup -"

"Hold on now, Elsa, threats aren't necessary." He'd tried to stop the flow of abuse on his ears. "I already have my best man looking into it. I'll call him as soon as I get into the office," he fibbed. He needed to buy himself some time. "Fair enough?" He queried, also remembering all the times she had generously donated her conference halls free of charge for the various charity functions his wife Joanne hosted each year.

"See that you do... Goodbye, Bill."

But that particular phone call had only been the start of his morning of misery. His eyes drifted over to where a small stack of folders; three to be precise, sat on the table top beside his empty breakfast plate.

The file at the bottom of the pile was the original copy of what they were now calling "the new Michael Westen dossier." It was approximately five inches thick and filled with an array of reports, pictures and logs, all of which painted Westen and his cohorts as traitors and criminals.

If he hadn't gotten the previous call from Elsa Dearbon asking for his help to find her boyfriend, who appeared to have completely dropped out of sight, he might have taken this dossier at face value. However, the speed with which it had arrived on his desk after he had first spoken to OC Card had piqued his curiosity. The dossier had arrived within hours of him requesting information, which in and of itself was unusual. But he had always been a little bit suspicious of Tom Card. Nobody rose up the ranks as quickly as the former training officer did unless they were exceptional – or dirty. Since being named the Head of the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence, he had kept a wary eye on him, but recognized Card was a powerful man who had been very useful.

The middle file contained CSS Agent Jason Bly's twenty three page preliminary report which debunked virtually everything in the first file. On the inside cover were two CDs, one holding a copy of a partial conversation between Westen and the present Operations Chief for the South America region, in which the OC Card incriminated himself in two recent high profile murders, a fifteen year old conspiracy and in running black bag ops for his own ends. The recording was unusable as evidence in a trial, but it was a great starting point for the spy catcher's investigation.

The second CD contained recordings of the CSS interrogations of Sam Axe, Barry Burkowski and David Geary. The only one of any particular interest to the congressman was that of Sam Axe. He remembered the previous times he'd run into Elsa's now boyfriend and his dark haired friend.

And that brought Bill Cowley to the file on the top of the stack; The proposed immunity deal for Axe and his friends and another reason for the massive tension headache building up behind his eyes.

It rankled the good congressman that they needed to make any sort of deal with Axe, Westen and Glenanne. But he knew full well that any case they brought against Tom Card was going to have to be water tight if it was to succeed. Squinting, he used the fingers of his right hand to massage his temple.

Some of it was hard to stomach. He grimaced as he worried if the risk he was taking was not worth the potential reward... If Tom Card found out he was under investigation... Cowley shuddered. If the operations chief was guilty of half the stuff Bly had already dug up, it would be enough to convict him as a traitor ten times over. There was no telling what such a man might do if he discovered he was under investigation and became desperate.

And it had been precisely that thought which had sent his hand to snatch up his official phone and put a call through to CSS Agent Bly, shortly after his call from Ms. Dearbon.

"Bly."

"Cowley here," he identified himself and got straight down to business. "Give it to me straight, Bly. Is there any way you can make what you've already uncovered stick?"

"Without Westen? It's doubtful, sir... But, with Westen as our star witness -"

"Make the deal." The words had nearly stuck in his throat. "Get Axe and Glenanne to sign. If we have his team locked into an agreement, he'll have no choice but to come over to my side."

"Glenanne will be – difficult... Do you want me to proceed even if she won't sign?"

"You remind Ms. Glenanne there's an MI-6 agent just waiting for the State department to approve her extradition. Then inform her that she can be either a protected witness of the CSS or an accomplice to a rogue CIA agent, which means the US government will be only too happy to turn over a wanted terrorist to their friends from across the pond."

"I'll inform the lady of her choices, sir."

One little psychotic Irish terrorist was not going to impede his opportunity to remove what was hopefully the last of a cabal of rogue CIA agents and, of course, if in the process he increased his own political standing, so be it. Being the one who had gotten Vaughn Anderson arrested and brought his organization's NOC list before Congress had gotten him a second term as the Head of the Intelligence Oversight Committee. Bringing in a rogue agent of Tom Card's standing would get him a place at the table of the Presidential Intelligence Advisory Board.

And thinking about a promotion, which would give him direct access to the President, made Bill Cowley feel a lot better. With Axe and Glenanne under lock and key and cooperating, that just left bringing Westen into line... If Card hadn't already killed him, that is. Once they had Westen, his new position would be within reach.

"Sir?"

Cowley glanced up as his aide came into the room.

"Sorry, sir, but you have a visitor... Operations Chief Card is waiting in the library."

Great, just what I need to make my day complete and it it isn't even nine o'clock. Cowley scowled at his aide and then turned his attention back to the folders. If Card discovered... He gulped and then picked up the two lighter folders. "Take these and put them in the office safe." He looked around checking if there was any more incriminating evidence lying around. "Then show Card in."

()()()()

In Mumbai.......

"Don't thank me yet, Westen." Agent Dani Pearce remarked, her gaze fixed on Michael. "I was sent out here in disgrace. Finding somebody willing to talk to me, let alone willing to go up against Tom Card, isn't going to be easy."

"But it will be easier than before," Jesse added softly, visibly relaxing now they had somebody official on their side who they could trust.

"We'll have to wait and see about that," Pearce answered, her eyes flickering over in the direction of the younger man before getting back to business at hand and turning her attention back to Westen. "Now, what did you mean before when you said you were running late?"

Michael stared back at his former agency contact, trying to decide how much to confide in her. They had worked well together in the past, despite him lying to her repeatedly; but that was before she admitted to knowing Tom Card and he had lost everything which had meaning for him.

"Westen?" Pearce growled, her patience finally at an end.

Biting down on his bottom lip, he knew he had to say something, but what? His confidence had slipped so far since the discovery that his old training officer was the man behind his brother's death his first instinct was to distrust everybody.

"Hey, Mike," Jesse added and now he knew he was definitely taking too long to answer.

He had no choice. He had to trust her. They needed her help. He quickly glanced around the room. There were few men guarding the exits, all the former hostages had settled down now that the strain of their ordeal was over. Most importantly, nobody was close enough to listen to his words.

"I'm going to convince Card I'm his man. I'm going to get close to him and dig up all the evidence I can. Hopefully, I'll get enough to bring him down - and anybody working with him."

She caught the veiled threat. But apart from a small huff, she let the comment go. Instead she turned her attention to the missing members of Westen's usual team. "Where are Sam and Fiona?" she asked, looking around as if she was expecting them to suddenly appear.

"They're not here. I cut them loose. They're out of it," Michael snapped, sending a glare in Jesse's direction. "This is between me and Tom."

"No!" Pearce hissed, remembering just in time to keep her voice down. "Let me be clear here. I won't help you become a vigilante. If you want my help, you will run this just like an official op. You'll follow procedures on any intel you gather, or all your work, everything you do ,will be for nothing." She paused, making sure they both understood how serious she was. "It's the only way to make sure that this doesn't blow back on you."

Michael heard what was unspoken... or your friends. He looked from the dark haired woman's determined stare to Jesse, who was clearly in agreement with her, and back to Dani.

Only when Michael nodded his agreement did she continue. "Good, now what's the real reason for you being here?"

"We're here to do an extraction. There is a guy waiting for us at a hotel near the airport. He's stolen some piece of tech for Card. We're supposed to pick him up and get him onto a black flight back to Miami."

She continued to stare, not believing for one minute it was that easy.

"Oh, yea, Mike forgot to mention home boy is being watched and we've got to sneak him out from under the noses of a security detail belonging to the company whose tech he just boasted," Jesse added.

"That doesn't matter." Michael dismissed the younger man's concerns. "I have a plan... Can we go now?" They had wasted enough time. He wanted to get back to Miami and get to the job of putting Card in the ground before anything else could go wrong; before the bastard had a chance to track down Fiona and Sam.

"I have to talk to my people before I go anywhere with you, Westen," Pearce said.

"We don't have time for –" Michael made a grab for the senior agent's arm, his fingers digging into her bicep, but she pulled free.

"I'm not just abandoning them. I am responsible for these people. Give me a minute." And she moved away before he could stop her.

He stared after her as she walked over to the small group of men and women who had been watching them surreptitiously from across the room.

"So what's the plan, my man?" Jesse asked, his eyes following the swaying movements of the dark haired woman's pony tail as she crossed the room.

He sounds happy, Michael thought. I wonder how happy he's going to be when he hears my plan?  
"I'll tell you about it when we get to the hotel." He flashed the younger man a reassuring smile. No need to cause a scene here.

"What about -" Mr. Porter turned to face his companion.

"Not now, Jess'." Michael nudged his arm as Pearce left her team. "Time to go."

The three men guarding the room were far more interested in their discussion on what was happening across the road in the Golden Palace Hotel, so it was easy for the three Americans to sneak out. Disappearing into the rest rooms, it took a matter of seconds for them to climb out of the windows and drop into the alley behind the building.

"So, where now?" Dani asked as Jesse caught hold of her arm, helping to steady her when she landed from the ten foot drop out of the window.

"To the hotel and then back home," the younger man answered, reluctantly letting her go as Michael led the way through the narrow streets.

Avoiding the patrols, they eventually cleared the military lines and returned to where they had left the car Michael had stolen earlier. Agent Pearce made no comment about the ripped out ignition or the damage done to the driver's side door frame where it had been bent outward so the door locks could be bypassed. On an op, you did what you had to do.

()()()()

Back in their hotel room, Michael sat down heavily on his bed and stared at the floor. He knew that both Jesse and Dani were going to hate what he had to say. But it was time to inform them both about how the rest of this mission to bring down Tom Card was going go. Bringing out the case holding all the paperwork and passports, Michael sorted through the documents until he found what he was looking for and handed Jesse two US passports, the one Jesse had used to get into India and another which held a photograph of Dani Pearce but in the name of Helen O'Shea.

"What's this?" Jesse asked suspiciously as he studied the passports. "We're going now? I thought we'd wait until -"

"If we go back together, Card is going to continue to use you both as leverage." Michael busied himself opening the compartments on the case, which held their few remaining weapons. "So, I'm going to take Card's thief back on my own... while you two take your passports and get on the first available flight to Dubai." He pushed on, even as Jesse started to protest, talking over the younger man's objections. "You don't need visas as US citizens to get into the Emirates. Once you're out of the airport, go to this address." He scribbled down the details. "Ask for Aziz. Tell him giving you both new identities clears his debt to me."

"Uh, no, ah- ah!" Jesse shook his head emphatically. "No way! We're doin' this together, remember?"

"If you really believe Tom is as dangerous as you say, you can't go back to Miami without backup... It's too risky," Pearce chimed in, adding her voice to the argument.

Michael stood up straight and fixed them both with a steely gaze. As far as he was concerned, this wasn't up for discussion. He couldn't do this any more. He couldn't work, couldn't go after Card while he had to watch over everybody he cared about and worry about what was happening to them. There was a reason why as a spy he had cut himself off from any sort of relationship. Miami had weakened him, softened his resolve and look what had happened.

"NO! I can't do this if I have to watch out for you both. You'll do this my way."

He paced around the small room, his fingers raking through his hair. He was tired, worn down by the never ending battles; he was sick to death of losing people. He was going to do this alone and afterwards, if he was still alive …...

Taking a deep breath, he took back his self control and turned to face his companions, reading their concern at his agitated state. Forcing himself to calm down and softening his expression ,he gave them both a toothy smile filled with sincerity. "I'll work Card from the inside. You two can do more good getting the tape recording to somebody who can use it... Once I've got enough intel for a conviction, I'm going to need somebody to pass it all on to. That's where you two come in."

"Okay, man. We'll do this your way." Jesse let out a sigh. Dani might have been there with them when Nate Westen had died. But she hadn't been there all the time during the aftermath like he had to see how much Nate's death had effected Michael or how Madeline Westen's vitriol-filled grief and anger had nearly destroyed her oldest son."But, you've gotta promise me, you're not gonna kill Card... We need him alive if we're all gonna get out of this." He was also becoming a quick study on how to handle the volatile spy.

In truth, Michael couldn't make that promise. The more he thought about Tom Card, the more he felt the urge to put a bullet in his former training officer's head. As far as he was concerned, there was no other way to ensure the safety of his remaining friends and family. Left alive, even if they dropped Card into the darkest hole the CIA could find, there was still a risk the man would have the reach to make their lives a misery.

"I just want you and Pearce on the outside while I work the inside. That's all." The carefully worded reply slipped easily from Michael's lips.

When neither of them challenged him, Michael gathered up his passport and the documents necessary to get Card's thief, Sam Pandit, through Customs and Immigration and walked towards the door. He was feeling better now he had won; a tiny bit of the stress he felt lifted off his shoulders.

"I'm gonna give you four hours to get out of Mumbai. As soon as I get on the flight with Pandit, Card is going to know something is wrong. Four hours should be enough time for you two to get out of India and disappear. When you get into Dubai, don't hang around. The guy I'm sending you to is good, but he is known to the agency. But it'll take Card time to trace where you've gone and then get a team there." He paused again, reaching out to shake the younger man's hand before he continued. "As soon as you can, get across to Cairo and then get on a boat over to Greece. It should be enough to slow down the search for you. When you get back to Miami, look up Barry. He knows how to find the tape... Be careful, you two." Michael released Jesse's hand and nodded towards Dani before turning on his heel and marching away.

He was half way out of the door when Pearce called him back. "Westen, promise me you'll follow protocols. That you are just going to gather intelligence and you'll hand it over to the authorities to deal with Tom."

Michael smiled, looked her straight in the eyes and lied. "I promise. Four hours," he cautioned. "I suggest you two each grab a bag so you'll pass for tourists and then get over to the airport." And then he was gone.

Dani pursued her lips and stared wordlessly at the door. In the time, she had spent working with Michael Westen, she had learned exactly how relentless he could be and the thought of him out there unsupervised... A shiver went down her spine. "Do you think we should let him go off alone?"

Jesse raised his arm as if to drape it over her shoulder, but then thought better of it. Instead he hurriedly grabbed the two smallest suitcases. "You do know Mike Westen, right? You think we stand any chance whatsoever of stopping him?"

()()()()

Miami......

"I can't stay here." Elsa got to her feet, her expression taunt with fear and concern, fearful of the threat of prison and concern that Sam was facing far worse.

"I assure you, Ms. Dearbon, this is - - -" Bly started to speak, but she cut him off with a wave of her hand.

"No, you don't understand. I have to go to work... If this man, this Tom Card, is watching me and I disappear won't that warn him that something is wrong? I have to go. I have a business to run."

Sam was on his feet too, his good arm wrapping around his girlfriend's waist. "She's right, Bly. Card is gonna be watching everybody connected to us. If Elsa drops outta sight - -"

"Fine," The CSS agent huffed, "But, if you're going back to your hotel, you're going back with a couple of new security personnel and the rest of you are staying here."

"I'll put two of your men on my security team." Elsa was willing to agree to virtually anything the CSS agent said. "But isn't there a chance I'll be followed back here later?"

"No, you've misunderstood me, Ms Dearbon. If you're going back to the hotel, that's where you're going to stay.. You can't come back here. It'll be too much of a risk," Bly pointed out.

"Sam?" She couldn't believe that was her choice. If she stayed, there was a chance Sam's enemy would find out about her house and, if she left to go back to her life running her business, she wouldn't be allowed to see her boyfriend again until the investigation was over.

"I think it would be best if you left, baby," Sam answered softly, trying to hide his emotions. "It'll be safer for you at the Chadwick."

Elsa looked from Sam and then to Fiona and finally to Agent Bly, her eyes filling with tears.

"Very well," she answered stiffly. "I'll pack my bags."

"I'll come with you. We have to talk." Sam followed her out of the room. "It'll be fine, baby, you'll see." Fiona and Bly listened as Sam and Elsa's voices faded as they went upstairs.

Jason Bly waited until the room was silent, taking the opportunity to study the Irish woman close up for the first time since she gave herself up to the FBI. There was something different about her. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, a vulnerability of some sort. She had nearly fainted when Axe had told her that her boyfriend was with Card.

The woman who had calmly read her lover's autopsy report without batting an eye had reeled and almost passed out at the mere mention of Westen being under the thumb of his former mentor. Was it just that Tom Card was that bad or something more? Then, there was the way Axe had been acting, the former Navy SEAL had all but demanded she be left alone, just to be given her immunity without having to answer for any of her numerous crimes... Was she sick?

Whatever the reason, he knew one thing for sure. Fiona Glenanne was not willingly going to stay under house arrest. At the first opportunity, she would run off to chase down Westen all by herself.

He cleared his throat before speaking. "I can understand why you're unhappy with this arrangement. But it would be best for everybody if you just accepted my offer."

She looked him up and down, her blue-green eyes filled with hatred. "Best? And who was your last offer to help me into betraying Michael best for?"

He smiled back her, reminding her of a shark. It was a very similar to the ones all the other agency bastards wore when they were sure they had won. CIA, FBI, MI6… they all the same.

"Once you sign on the dotted line, this deal ties you in as my witness. It will protect you and, believe me, Fiona, you need my protection right now." He saw her look of utter disdain and continued to give her the rest of the bad news. "Sam didn't give you the whole picture. You're in trouble, Ms Glenanne, a lot of trouble. There is a MI-6 agent pushing the State Department to expedite your return to the UK on terrorist charges."

Fiona swallowed thickly. She knew exactly who Bly was talking about, the British spy who had tried to take her out of Allarod Federal prison.

"You see the chemical signature on the bomb which murdered some of the twelve CIA agents who died in Panama comes back to your family. And as you were the only Glenanne present... Well, you can see how that must look. It certainly proves his case that you are a dangerous terrorist. My guess is, if the US government doesn't want you for the murder of US government agents, then they will authorize your forcible removal back to your homeland."

"And if I sign your piece of paper, I won't be prosecuted here or turned over to the British? I'll be free and allowed to stay here in the US?"

The words coming out her mouth surprised Fiona as much as the man facing her. Bly was most likely lying; there probably was no deal. But out of nowhere she had been hit by a sudden powerful urge to protect the tiny group of cells growing inside her. This was no longer about her or Michael, it was about their child. So she was going to play things safe. She would stop openly fighting with the agent and play along until she could plan her escape.

She just managed to stop her hand from protectively going to cover her belly. She was going to have to do something about this MI-6 bastard who was coming after her, too.

Bly hadn't expected Fiona Glenanne to give in so easily. He stared at her in wonder. Was that a glimpse of real fear he had seen in her eyes? It was only for a fraction of a second, but it wasn't anything he had ever seen before. He knew there had been some attempts on her life while in Allarod prison. Could that be it?

()()()()

Mumbai.......

Michael wasted no time, he had reconnaissance to do, a plan to instigate and he had to do it all on his own. He paused as he stared into the hotel restaurant, thinking about what he had done. He had deliberately cut himself off from his friends, from Fiona. He was probably never going to see any of them again.

He flinched, resisting the urge to go back to the hotel room and tell Jesse he had made a mistake. They could all run, Aziz could make three new identities as easily as two and then they could find Fi and Sam. He stiffened and put an end to the wishful thinking. That would last maybe a week before Card found us all and then we'd all be dead or locked up for the rest of our lives on trumped up charges. No, this is the only way to keep them all safe. You've tried it their way and it didn't work out.

With a sigh, Michael turned his attention back to the restaurant and in particular to the short, round shouldered, slightly balding man sitting at a table of one in the corner of the room. Sam Pandit looked more like a desk jockey than the top flight corporate thief Card's file had described. Getting this man out was not going to be as easy as he thought. It was at that moment his experienced eyes picked out the three person team watching Sam Pandit eat a chicken curry, washed down with an iced tea.

Turning away, Michael was just in time to see Jesse's back as he, along with the tall slender figure of Dani Pearce, exited the hotel through the front doors and got into a waiting taxi.

It was time now to make his own travel arrangements. Just like any major city in the world, traffic in Mumbai during rush hour was going to be hectic. But with the right form of transport, he could use the crush of vehicles blocking up the roads to his advantage. Moving swiftly towards the doors, he set out to find what he needed. He had promised Jesse a four hour head start. That would be plenty of time to do what was necessary.

()()()()

Three and a half hours later, dinners were still being served in the restaurant and a few people took up the seats in the lobby listening to the soft music which came through the speakers hidden high up on the walls. Sam Pandit was back in his room, sitting on his bed trying to watch TV, while becoming increasingly worried about how he was ever going to get out of India alive. He had been promised help to get out of country and safe passage back to his adopted homeland of the United States. But so far he hadn't seen the promised team of Special Forces.

Outside the hotel, standing in the shadows across the street, watching the room occupied by Mr. Pandit, a tall well built man leaned back against the wall and yawned. He was tired after his four hour shift and bored as he had another four hours still to go. He never heard the figure who came up behind him and had no memory of the arm which circled his neck, dragging him further into the shadows before he passed out.

A few minutes later, two things happened at once. A gun attached to a boat rescue flare hidden in a flower pot near the reception desk began to fire off shots. The loud bangs sent the hotel patrons running out of the building or cowering under cover. Three hotels had already been under siege; was this to be a fourth?

The second event was masked by the noise from the first. After choking one of the surveillance detail watching Pandit, Michael had rushed over to the outer wall of the thief's room and hurriedly removed the screws from the AC unit. He then carefully wedged a tire iron into the gap he created and, as he heard the scared screams of guests evacuating the hotel, he tore the AC out of the wall and stuck his head through the gap.

"Hey, you! Ready to get out of here? Better come with me if you want to live."

They stared at each other through the hole, steely blue eyes boring into scared brown orbs while Michael tried to shake off the shock that he had just cribbed a line from the Terminator.

I really am starting to lose it, he thought humorlessly. He needed to wrap this mess up and personally host Tom Card's 9 mm retirement party before he really did come unglued.

The screaming had stopped and voices were coming from all around the hotel. Any minute now, they were going to be discovered. In the distance came the sound of police sirens, which probably meant a counter terrorist unit from the army was on it's way too.

"Come on, Tom Card sent me," he urged the little thief to hurry up.

Grabbing Sam Pandit by the arm, Michael dragged him through the gap and rushed him over to where he had left the motorcycle he had stolen earlier. Thrusting a crash helmet into the other man's hands, Michael quickly pulled on his own and fired up the bright red Honda Super Blackbird. As soon as he felt his passenger land in the seat behind him, Michael twisted the throttle open and took the superbike rapidly through it's gears.

Trying to keep the motorcycle on two wheels while travelling at close to eighty miles an hour, weaving through the heavy traffic and occasionally mounting the pavement with Card's procurement specialist clinging onto him so tightly he could barely breathe was quite a challenge. All Michael could think of was how much easier this had been the last time he'd had to race a motorcycle to an airport. At least that time he had only to contend with his own injuries, instead of a nervous pillion who was trying to climb up his back.

At least he could look forward to passing out in first class without the convulsions this time.


	21. The Voices in My Head

Following a wild ride through the crowded streets of Mumbai during the panic of another suspected terrorist attack, Michael finally brought the stolen motorcycle to a halt outside a bar close to the Chatrapati Shivaji international airport. Losing the two men tasked with guarding the corporate thief, in the crush of humanity as people tried to flee the area around the hotel had turned out to be easier than he had hoped. Now all they had to do was get out of the country before all the routes were closed down.

"You can get off now." Michael called out, his voice muffled by the crash helmet.

When he got no response, he made an effort to pry the fingers of his terrified passenger away from where they gripped his shirt...... This was ridiculous. They needed to keep moving if they were going to stay ahead of Pandit's previous employers.

"Get off," he ordered, but Sam Pandit didn't move or relax his grip. "You can let go now, we've - just." He was beginning to lose his temper with the little guy. "Look, if you want to get outta here, you're gonna have to let go of me and get off!"

Finally, freed of the little thief's death grip, Michael climbed off the motorcycle. Pulling his own crash helmet off and then that of the thief, swivelling his head first one way and then the other, the spy carefully scanned the area, pleased to see that for the time being nobody was paying them any attention.

"You got it with you?" he asked, fixing Pandit with a steely eyed stare.

Pandit opened and shut his mouth several times and then when he saw the look in his rescuer's eyes and gulped.

But he was taking too long to answer. "You've got what our mutual friend wants? What you were paid for?"

"Y-yes." He scrabbled at his jacket and pulled a thumb drive from his pocket, showing it Michael. "Here. I got it all."

The spy pursed his lips; the drive was useless to him. They couldn't risk staying in Mumbai while he found somewhere to make copy and, even if he copied it, he suspected it would be heavily encrypted. Also, the CIA plane was waiting on the tarmac. If he failed to turn up on time, Card wouldn't hesitate to order a black bag operation to end his star pupil's life.

Leaving the device in Pandit's hand, Michael made another quick scan of the surrounding area before turning back to his nervous companion.

"Okay, deep breaths," he advised wrapping his arm around the other man's shoulders. "We have all the right documents and we're travelling on a company plane. This is the easy part." He barred his teeth in a confident smile. "All we have to do is walk into the airport, like there is nothing wrong."

Just as Michael predicted, they sailed through customs and immigration, Tom Card had obviously gone the extra mile in greasing the wheels for his operative. Michael wondered what Pandit had stolen that had Card going to this much effort. Military technology could mean all sorts of nasty things..... He would have to keep his eyes and ears open for an opportunity to find out.

As soon as they got on the plane, the two agents who had stayed on board both looked outside and then while one pulled Pandit off to one side, the other came over to where Michael was already dropping into his seat and organizing the straps of his seat belt.

"We can't hang around, where are Porter and Pearce? We heard all about you storming that woman's hotel first instead of doing your job." The agent snapped.

"I cut them loose," Michael reported calmly. He could guess how Card had reacted to the news of his agent on the ground going off script. "I wanted to get Card's boy here in one piece and this was the best way to do it. Porter and Pearce will get themselves out." He flashed his former training officer's flunky a cocky grin. "Don't worry, they'll be fine."

The agent didn't look happy about the news. With a huff of disapproval, he held out his hand. "I need your weapons and, once we're airborne, I'll bring you the paperwork you need to fill in for all the kit you left behind and to explain why you couldn't follow orders for a quiet extraction."

Getting back to his feet, Michael removed the couple of guns he still had on his person before retaking his seat. He doubted that any report he wrote on his activities in India would ever be filed away in Langley. But once the plane was cruising above the clouds, he dutifully began to write out his version of what occurred on his Indian assignment.

But the paperwork only took up so much of his time and, after awhile, he found his mind drifting as he stared out of the window at the darkness of the night sky. It was going to be a long flight and, as soon as he landed, he was going to have to work on tricking the man who had trained him into believing he was willing to forgive and forget his brother's murder for a life as a traitor and trunk load of cash. He blinked and sighed. What he wouldn't give to have his team's light-hearted banter to distract him from where his thoughts were going.

"Can I get you something to eat or drink, Agent Westen?"

One of the flights stewards smiled down at him, her words breaking through his gloomy thoughts.

"Thanks." He gave her a tired smile. "Can you get me a Scotch? No ice."

It had been an early lesson in Spycraft 101, ice dilutes alcohol, allowing you to make it appear you've drunk more than you actual had. But he wasn't looking to appear drunk. At the moment he just wanted something to dull the ache in his soul. He had a sixteen hour flight before he had to face Tom Card again..... Sixteen hours of having nothing to do to occupy his time was too much free time to think about what he had lost. No, not lost... Thrown away.

He took an appreciative sip of the single malt scotch and let his head lay back against the head rest. Half an hour later, the empty glass sat upright balanced on his lap and his head lolled to the side resting against the window. When the stewardess came over to offer him a refill, he smiled and held up the glass.

Another glassful would aid a dreamless sleep, and that's was all he was after. A chance to rest without accusing blue green eyes staring back at him.

"After we get Grey I'll leave, I'm out."   
He blinked as the words he had spoken came back to haunt him.

"The CIA?" 

"All of it."   
He had sincerely meant it. He'd been thinking about it for some time. It had taken Anson Fullerton to show him how much damage his obsession was doing to the people he loved.

"Don't say that if you don't mean it."

"I do. How does that sound?"   
He'd had no regrets when he had said those words. Only a deep warmth as she had smiled back at him. It was all he wanted to do now: make Fiona Glenanne happy.

"Well, if we live long enough to see that happen, it sounds really good."  
It had sounded good. It was what he had wanted... What he still wanted, but it was impossible now. Sighing, he raised up the large cut glass tumbler filled with amber liquid... Scotch Neat, he smirked at the irony, Tom Card's favorite drink of choice. He emptied the glass in two large swallows.

()()()()

Once Jason Bly left the Palm Island property taking Mrs. Dearbon with him, Fiona began to tear through the house muttering under her breath about bastard government spies and their toys. Followed room to room by Sam Axe and Elsa's bodyguard David Geary, she managed to find four tiny listening devices hidden in the lounge and another two in the kitchen. She also tore two mini-cameras out of the walls.

Smashing the electronics down on the kitchen work top, she glared at the two men. Most of her wrath was clearly being directed at the older of the two males.

"And these are only the ones I can find," she declared angrily. "You can be damn sure they're not the only ones. I bet there's at least one sneaky sonuvabitch out thar wit' a directional mic." She shot Sam a scathing look. "C.S.S., Sam. Counter. Surveillance. Service. They fecking spy on their own people... for...a...living."

"We'll run another sweep." The former Seal tried to reason with the livid Irishwoman. "Set up one room which we'll keep clean. If we remove everything they'll just put 'em back in place or claim we're obstructing the investigation. We've gotta play this smart, Tinkerbell."

Fiona hissed at him and then pushed by David Geary. "If I find a single bug or camera in my bedroom, I swear ta God I will break outta here and stick every bit o' technology I find up Bly's ass."

The two men remained silent as Fiona footsteps could be heard stamping up the wooden staircase and onto the landing.

"Is she ever gonna calm down? I mean, in her -" Geary closed his mouth at the look Sam sent him.

"Not any time soon. My advice is stay outta her way and be prepared to duck if she starts throwing stuff." Sam looked his girlfriend's bodyguard up and down. "On second thought, just stay out of her way."

Upstairs in her room, Fiona searched every surface, crack, and nail hole. She pulled away skirting boards where they had been fixed, dismantled light fittings and removed the covers from the wall sockets.

The bug in her bedside light was almost an insult, as she had found it immediately. However, the camera she found had been placed in the wall and she guessed by it's position it would have given anybody watching a good view of two thirds of her room including the bed.

Thoroughly pissed and nearly demoralized, she dropped down on to the mattress fighting back the tears that threatened to flow...... This was so unlike her, but she was so damned tired..... Laying back, she stared up at the ceiling and tried to calm her rampaging emotions.

It was barely a week ago Michael had made the promise that after they got Tyler Grey, they would be together. He had sworn it. Yet here she was stuck with Sam Axe because her boyfriend had run off in the middle of the night – yet again...... Was she some kind of fool to keep believing in Michael Westen's line of crap?

Her hand strayed to lay protectively over her stomach, the cramps were now few and far between and so light that she hardly felt them.... Was that a good sign? She scowled..... Well, there's no way of telling now is there? Not unless you want to let Bly and the whole bloody intelligence community know you're carrying Michael Westen's baby.

Fiona sniffed as she silently berated herself. Rubbing furiously at her eyes, she sat up and moved restlessly over to the window. There was no use worrying about things she couldn't change. She spotted one of Bly's men, just a glimpse of his arm as he tried to get comfortable in his hiding spot behind a load of garbage cans.

Less than an hour ago, she had made the decision to do what Sam had asked and give the deal with the CSS a chance. But finding all of Bly's toys had sent her turbulent emotions into a 180 degree turnabout. Resting her forehead against the window, she watched the spot where the agent was hiding...... Did he have a directional microphone out there? Or was he going to be staring up at her bedroom with a thermal imaging camera? Maybe he was just a sentry... It was no better than being in Allarod... At least there she had the choice to hide in her cell.

That thought brought her up short. When had being stuck in a house under construction become worse than being trapped in a prison with the "worst of the worst" who were trying to kill her daily?

As soon as she had discovered she had someone more important than Michael Westen to protect.

She had to find a way out of the house and past the men guarding it. Once out on her own, she could sneak in to see that woman doctor they helped a few years ago, Laura, over in Homestead.

She could also make a call to her brothers, warn them that a MI6 agent was out to cause mischief. She winced at the thought of how that particular conversation would go. Maybe she would speak to Sean first. He had at least supported her decision to stay with her American spy. When she called, he would call her every name under the sun and then curse her seven ways 'til Sunday for dropping this bombshell on him. But, in the end, he would speak to Liam and admit he had been keeping in contact with their sister.

She knew how hard it had been for him. Sean had been on his way back to Ireland when the news of her relationship with an American spy had broken on the shores of her homeland. Instantly, all the old suspicions had come back to the foreground. And as she wasn't there, those who hated the name Glenanne found another easier target......

Early one morning, two days before Sean landed in Galway, his Irish-English wife, Rosanna had gotten up and began her daily morning ritual of calling the children to get ready for school, before going downstairs to make breakfast for her brood of four. A knock at the door was nothing unusual and without a thought she had opened it, expecting the postman to be stood there wanting her to sign for a parcel.  
She had only opened it a crack when she had been knocked to the floor as two men had forced their way inside. "I have a message fer yar man when he gets back home... He can pass it on ter his whore o' sister."   
They had beat her to an inch of her life, only stopping when her screams had alerted her two oldest to the danger. She had passed out by the time Sian and Peter appeared and drove the men out of the house with hockey sticks. 

Then while Sian had dropped to her mother's side and began caring for her injuries, Peter had called up his uncles. Seamus first because he lived close by and then Liam, because Liam would be the one who would deal with what was happening.

Sean had told her all about the beating Rosanna had taken and how in the following weeks, while he was still too weak to be much use, Liam set about putting an end to the rumors about his little sister sleeping with an American spy.

If she was returned to Ireland, it would spark everything off again. Her family, who had nothing to do with this present situation, would be back defending themselves against what she had done. And if it came out she was pregnant with the American spy's baby.

"Would ya let 'em take me, Liam?"   
She'd asked her brother that question when the rumors had first started circulating about a spy infiltrating the PIRA, right after Michael had abandoned her in Dublin.

"I'd kill 'em all, I'd burn down the whole feckin' organization," had been her oldest sibling's reply and, just like when he had spoken those words to her all those years ago, the memory of his voice filled with repressed violence was enough to make her blood run cold.

She blinked away a tear. How helpless had she become that she needed her big brother to chase away the nasty British Spy out to kill her and her family.... Damn you, Michael Westen!

()()()()

Standing alone in the large mirror walled elevator, he felt his fingers twitch nervously. Stepping out onto the ninth floor, he hurried down the hallway and was just in time to see a waitress close the door to what had to be Card's room and walk away. Reaching the room, he paused until the waitress was out of sight and then knocked loudly on the door.  
As the door began to open, he erupted into action. Smashing the door back onto its hinges with a powerful kick, he sent Tom Card flying backwards and onto the floor.  
Stunned and lying flat on the hard marble tiled floor, Tom Card looked up at him calmly. "Hello there."   
"Show me your hands, Tom." He closed the door with his foot, all the time keeping his gun trained on his old mentor as the older man slowly shuffled backwards.  
"Michael Westen, back from the dead." Card slowly got to his feet. "What are you going to do? Shoot me?"  
His lips curled into a snarl and the burning hatred in his heart suddenly froze as it came too much for him to bear. When the shot rang out, he felt nothing at all. The sight of his former father figure falling backwards had no more effect on him than when he had taken out an anonymous target as an army ranger.   
He stared down at the body, his eyes fixed on the small hole in Tom Card's forehead before raising up to where blood and brain matter were splattered the wall and floor behind the deceased Operations Chief... And he felt happy.

Michael woke with a start as the plane started to rock and judder as they hit a small pocket of turbulence. Realizing he had been dreaming and that Tom Card was unfortunately still breathing, he slumped back and looked down at his empty glass. Getting drunk, especially mid assignment was never a good idea. Training Officer Card would have thrown a full blown fit if he caught his star pupil being anything other than fully alert and functioning at an optimum level.

"Hey, sweetie!" He leaned out of his chair and looked down the aisle to where the stewards were sitting with Card's flunkies. "A refill, please, when you've gotta a moment." Pissing off a murdering traitorous bastard seemed like a good way of spending the rest of the flight.

Ignoring the disapproving look of the pretty blonde who replenished his glass, Michael took a sip and grimaced as his stomach complained at the unusual amount of spirits it was being asked to deal with.

Would killing Card back at the hotel have been such a bad thing? He sighed as his thoughts turned to what if he had done things differently. What if he had just walked into the Card's hotel room and shot him in the head like he had wanted to. Would it had made things any better?

Closing his eyes, he tried to run through the scenario. He would have been on the run from that moment onwards. The CIA would have instigated a full scale manhunt. His mom would have been questioned for hours. She would have been put under FBI surveillance. She would have become the mother of a traitor with news trucks parked on her lawn and fingers pointing at her every time she went outside.

His friends lives would have been pulled to pieces. Fiona... He paused and emptied the glass for a third time. Fiona would have lost her deal with the CIA. She would have gone back to prison and eventually been extradited to Britain; that is, of course, if she lasted that long.

He wiped a hand over his brow and sucked up the heartache the thoughts brought him. No, this way was better, cleaner. Killing Card would have brought a world of hurt down on them all. Even if he'd managed to find proof of his old mentor's guilt, nobody would have believed him.

This way he would keep everybody else out of it. He would work on finding the evidence to prove Card was a traitor while trying to stop the bastard doing any more damage and then, after he handed the evidence over to whoever Pearce found who would listen to her, he would finish the sonuvabitch off.

It wouldn't help him get his life back; that was gone. Anson and Card had seen to that. But he didn't care about himself any more. His mother hated him, he had gotten his brother killed, and, because of Card, he had lost Fiona. But if he was honest with himself, he had been well on the way to getting her killed long before he even knew of his mentor's involvement. He had nearly got Sam killed, too... If it hadn't been for Aiden Malloy...

"I need you to become the same unstoppable sonuvabitch I recruited all those years ago."  
He remembered Raines' words clearly as if his recruiter had said them only a day ago. That was the heart of the matter. He had never changed, not really, not deep down. He had just gotten smarter. He used that same relentless spirit he had used as a spy to try to get back in and later to take down Anson Fullerton.

He turned his head and caught his reflection in the small glass window. Staring out at the dark starless sky, he heard another voice whispering in his ear.

"I know how you used to look at people who betrayed us, whose stupidity disappointed us... Come on, I know that look and you know how easy it would be." The voice of another unstoppable sonuvabitch taunted him. 

"By now the Michael I knew would have sliced a bloody swarth through the list of people coming after him. The Michael I knew would have left a trail of twisted broken bodies lying in his wake and the Michael I knew would have done it all with a smile on his face."

Could he be that man again? He had come close so many times before and without his friends to rein him in... Without his family...

He had a sudden vision of the shock on Nate's face as he was thrown backwards, his body a bloody mess. "I'm scared..." were the last words his little brother uttered before he died.

"I should have been protecting him from you!" His mother's hate filled eyes staring at him over the dining table... she wouldn't even hold his hand, her own son...her only son now and she couldn't bring herself to forgive him.

Michael blinked away the moisture building in his eyes. He should have stayed away from all of them. Maybe none of this would have happened if he had hung up the first time she called and asked for his help.

And then the devil was back, whispering in his ear again. "You're at a fork in the road and I know you, it's not a tough call... All you have to do is kill him."

He felt the old fire build up. But instead of the having to reach back into his childhood and family life to fan the flames, all he had to do was think of Tom Card smiling at him, placing a hand on his arm and then speaking in a low voice. "I'm proud of you, son."

"It's do or die time," his other mentor queried, "What's it gonna be?"

()()()()

Sam Axe stared at the ceiling, all the noise up there had come to a stop. Somehow. the silence was even more unnerving.... What was she up to now?

Twenty minutes later and the silence was really beginning to worry him. He knew Fiona was unhappy with the arrangement she had been forced into signing and there was a very big chance she would make a break for it. It was no good. He was going to have to go up there and convince her that this deal was the best chance for them all to get clear of the latest threat to their lives.

He glanced over to where Geary was clearing one side of the living room. While Fiona had been tearing her bedroom to pieces in search of Bly's surveillance equipment, the two men had had a long conversation and decided that while they were going to be stuck in the house they might as well make a start on the refurbishment. Having building supplies delivered to a house in the middle of a rebuild shouldn't raise any red flags anywhere, or at least that what he hoped the CSS agent would agree. Whatever else they might manage to do with the building supplies was another matter.

"You said to leave her alone," Geary commented.

"Yeah but that's sorta 'do as I say, not do as I do' advice. Tinkerbell is only ever this quiet when she's plotting to make something go boom."

At the top of the stairs, he paused. There was still no sounds so he went over and rapped his knuckles on the door. "Fi, Fiona, can I come in?"

He heard her footsteps and she flung the door open wide. "What do you want?" she demanded.

He noted the redness of her eyes, but decided it was probably best not to mention it. Instead he walked into the room noticing the destruction she had wrought.

"Mmmm, not quite my style... But I can see where you're going with it. Though Elsa had only just had those skirting boards fitted a coupla days ago."

"Tell her to bill the US government," The furious Irishwoman snapped and then pointed to the two smashed up pieces of electronics. "That camera was watching the bed, Sam. That bastard was goin' -"

"Hey, I know, I know...I'm not happy about it either. But if we destroy all their toys, Bly will just have us taken into custody and we'll spend the next god knows how many years rotting away in holding cells. You want that?"

She slumped down on the bed like a puppet with it's strings cut, all the fight going out of her.

"Fi, this is the best deal we're gonna get. It's the best way to get Mike back. At least now we know he didn't kill Card in cold blood."

Fiona looked up at him. "Would that have been such a bad thing? The bastard killed Nate. He tried to have us all killed."

"Yeah and if Mikey had dropped him, how long do you think it woulda been before we all got dropped into a deep dark hole... Believe me, sister, this is better."

"I don't trust Bly. The guy is a -"

"Yeah, he's a pain, I get it, sister but he has no time for the CIA playing fast and loose with the law either." Sam stopped her words. "We can trust him to go after Card."

"And Michael?"

"Bly needs Mike." Sam let out a long sigh, looked around and then reluctantly dropped down onto the bed next to her. "He's the only one who can straighten out this whole damn mess. We've gotta trust that when Bly makes contact, he'll do the right thing."

Fiona pursed her lips, her eyes searching Sam's face. She rarely mentioned her family to Michael, but there were things that she needed to do and only Sam could help her now.

"You know about the MI6 agent who wants to take me back to Ireland?"

Sam nodded, waiting to see where she was going with the sudden change in topic.

"He's out to cause mischief for my whole family. I have to call home and warn them. I need to get my hands on a phone. Oh and Bly can't know anything about this call."

"So, what do you have in mind?"

She smiled at him, her eyes wide and mocking.

"Oh no. You're crazy, lady." He said as he realized what she intended.

"Don't worry Sam, I'm not asking you to do anything. I am quite capable of lifting a cell phone all by myself."

"And get caught." He glared at her and then with a sigh of resignation, he nodded affirmatively. "Fine, you do the distraction and I'll lift the phone. But can your call wait a day or so, when Bly's flunkies are more relaxed?"

()()()()

"Hey! Westen, wake up. We're gonna be landing soon."

"Wha'?" Michael opened one eye and winced as pain shot through his head.

"You've drunk and slept the whole flight, now wake up. We're not carrying you off." The agent didn't bother to hide his disgust.

Michael couldn't bring himself to care. He had a raging headache and a stomach doing flips. He pushed himself up straight in his seat and combed his fingers through his hair. The whirr of the landing gear coming down told him he wasn't going to be given the time to tidy himself up.

As soon as the plane came to a stop, one of Card's men got up and stood by the spy's chair, blocking his exit while his partner ushered Pandit down the steps and away in a dark colored town car with blacked out windows.

"Your turn, Westen. Chief Card is waiting to see you."

There was nothing to be done at the moment. He was going to have to gain the operations chief's confidence. As well as helping him sleep, even though it hadn't driven away his demons, drinking heavily was a good start in making Tom Card feel he had won the battle for his protégé's soul.

Michael shaded his eyes as he walked down the steps and into the hangar. He instantly found himself surrounded by four more agents and resisted the urge to laugh. Card obviously still saw him as a threat..... I don't want to run. He kept the thought to himself as he climbed into the back of a four door sedan with blacked out windows.... I want to get close.

"So where are we off to?" he asked, trying to peer around the agent sitting on his left.

"It's not too far. Here have some water. Clear your head." The agent sitting on his right pushed him back into the seat and offered him a bottled water.

Michael looked the man up and down, the reassuring friendly smile didn't fool him one bit. He looked down at the water, remembering another time when he had been handed water spiked with something nasty.

He felt the barrel of a gun dig into his side. "Drink up, Westen... It won't kill you."

Michael paused. He really had no choice in the matter. Licking his lips, he glanced at the two men sitting on either side of him and then took a large swallow of the sparkling spring water.

If Card wanted him dead, he could have had him thrown out of the plane into the ocean and nobody would have known anything about his demise..... His head began to spin and his vision darken.... This was another of his former training officer's mind games.

He felt the bottle of water being removed from his hands, as the whispering taunts of an old friend came back.

You're bottling up all your darkness, all your rage, all the good stuff which makes you who you are. That sonuvabitch gave the order to kill your brother. He deserves to die! Can you tell me any different?  
A smile started to form on Michael's lips as he finally lost consciousness.

"Not this time, Lare. Not this time."


	22. The Art of Storytelling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Fiona get a little bit of good news. While Michael begins to realize the full extent of how far his former training officer has fallen.

Michael Westen woke up with a thumping nausea inducing headache and a strong urge to vomit. He lurched off the hard narrow cot he had been sleeping on and just managed to crawl the short distance to the steel toilet bowl in time as his stomach went into full rebellion.

After emptying the remnants of alcohol and drugged sparkling water from his system, he staggered to his feet and washed his mouth out straight from the tap.

It was only then that he took a long look at his new accommodation: a standard CIA eight by eight foot holding cell. Apart from the bed with a single pillow, sheet and one blanket, the only other pieces of furniture were a desk and a chair.

Looking down at himself, he realized he was in the same clothes he had been wearing on the flight back from Mumbai. The only things missing were his boots and pants belt. With a sigh of resignation, he dropped down onto the bed and fell back with his head on the thin lumpy pillow. He knew what this was; it was all part of the same game as ordering him take a drugged drink. This was Tom Card's way of reminding him who was in charge and running things.

He had known all along there would be consequences for not running the mission exactly as ordered and his former training officer would also be furious him with for cutting Jesse Porter and Dani Pearce loose. He just had to hope the pair was managing to stay one step ahead of the teams he was sure Tom Card had sent after them.

Staring up at the ceiling, he forced his body to relax and did his best to empty his mind. He knew this game all too well. Card was giving him a time out, time to think about what would happen to him if he ever pulled a similar stunt again. Isolation and boredom two of his greatest enemies, all he had was time, time to think about what he could have done differently, to worry about what was happening to his friends and to wonder how much Sam and Fiona hated him about now.

"Did anyone ever tell ya whot a bastid ya are, McBride?"  
He blinked and rubbed a hand over his eyes.

"You can't come with me, Fi. This one I have to do on my own."  
He'd spoken those words to her so many times; it was a goodbye of sorts. But this time, just like back in Ireland, there had been no goodbye, just silently sneaking away while she slept...... Because he was the bastard she said he was and saying goodbye hurt too much.

He bit down on his bottom lip and flung an arm over his face. There was a surveillance camera on the wall above the door and there was no way he was going to let Card see how close he was to breaking.

Exhaustion from running on empty for so long, added to the after effects of too much alcohol and the sedative in the water, all conspired to send the weary spy into a deep sleep.

A soft moan escaped from between his lips and the arm that had hid his face from the watching camera dropped down onto his chest, exposing his features twisting into a mask of pain. Deep inside his mind, Fiona Glenanne's soft Irish brogue taunted him with memories of the past, both distant and recent....... "D'ya remember tha first time ya stayed at me Mammy's house, Michael?" she whispered, as she lifted her vest top over her head.

They were in Panama, in the derelict house. Sam was in the room next to theirs and downstairs Jesse was on guard duty while Pressman was working on finding Tyler Grey's whereabouts. Every sound made echoed loudly throughout that large empty building, every word above a whisper, every combat booted step and every creaking bed spring from an old rusted bed frame.

Yet mingled with Panama was his first meeting with the Matriarch of the Glenanne family, her suspicious, disapproving stare and her words to him informing him in great detail of what she would do to him if he was caught outside the guest bedroom before the call to breakfast the following morning. Of when Fiona had crept into his room, wearing nothing under her dressing gown but a smile. Of his heart beat wildly in his chest and his brain was screaming at him: "This girl is going to screw my assignment all to hell, but what the hell."

"Fi," he had protested, in both timelines for two very different reasons. "We can't, Fi." Her hands were already walking over his body. "You're too tense, Michael. This will be good for both of us," had been her answer both times.

He dreamed of the touch of her hands over his body, stroking, massaging, her nails scraping down his back, and over his shoulders, her lips and mouth consuming him and the feeling of peace which settled over his heart and soul that only came when he lay with her....... "See? I knew ya could keep quiet if yar life depended on it."

He woke with a start. The dream had left him reeling. Until this moment he hadn't realized how much Fiona completed him. This was far worse than when he had left her in Ireland. Then it had been because he was given no choice; this time he had nobody to blame but himself.

To distract his thoughts away from what he had thrown away in his quest for revenge, he looked around his cell again, sensing something had changed, and there it was. He'd had a visitor while he slept.

By the door, he spotted a tray on the floor holding two cellophane wrapped sandwiches and a large bottle of water. After scrubbing his fingers through his hair, Michael sat up and put his feet on the floor and then slowly got up to retrieve his meal. As he ate, he worked on pushing away the memories of that night in Panama and the promise he had made the following morning.

He blinked away the moisture building in his eyes. He had meant every word he had said to her that morning. He remembered exactly what they were doing. It had been the first time he had made a promise he'd had every intention of keeping. Right up to the moment he had discovered his one-time friend and mentor was the man who had not only got Nate killed, but had tried to assassinate them all to cover up his crimes.

He dropped the remains of his sandwich down onto the tray. He couldn't let this continue. If he kept letting his thoughts circle around what he had lost, he would end up climbing the walls. He had no idea how long Card would keep him locked up. He couldn't afford to let it get to him.

Going over to the sink, he washed up as best he could in the small sink with the limited supplies he had been left. He grimaced in disgust when he realized what wasn't there: no comb, razor or toothbrush and paste.

He comforted himself with the thought that he had been through this before. He just had to be patient. If he was going to get through this, he needed to find a way to keep himself busy and not let his thoughts dwell on the past.

()()()()

"Yeeooww!" Sam rubbed his arm and threw an accusing look at the Irish pixie who was glaring at him with anger in her narrowed eyes. "What the hell, Fi?" At least she had punched his good arm, but even so her hard bony knuckles were going to leave a bruise.

"Five days, Sam, it's been five days since you said you'd help me get -" She lowered her voice. "Help me getta message to my family." Somewhere out there a British spy was pushing for her extradition back to the UK. Her whole family back home in Ireland were in danger and she couldn't warn them because she was stuck under house arrest!

"Do you see these guys relaxing and gettin' comfortable around us? Cuz I gotta tell ya, sister, all I see is them watchin' our every move. Bly musta given them one hell of a pep talk."

"And that's supposed to make me feel better?" Fiona snapped back. It was true, though they were left alone to do whatever they wanted as long as they stayed inside the house, the CSS agents guarding them never came close unless they were in pairs. Getting hold of a phone had been impossible.

"Look, why not just ask Bly to let you make the call? I mean, he's not interested in what goes on thousands of miles away in Ireland."

"I'm not giving that bastard any more leverage than he already has, Sam." She turned away, her arms crossed protectively over her chest. It wasn't only her family. She knew the longer she stayed under the close scrutiny of Bly and his men, the more likely they were going to notice the changes taking place within her body.

She was barely eating, the stress of the last few weeks and she guessed her rampaging hormones had caused her appetite to disappear yet she had already noticed a slight increase in her weight. It was nothing much, just every piece of clothing she had with her was a little bit tighter than it had been before. But how long before she was going to have to ask Bly to supply her with new clothing?

"Okay." Sam gave a resigned sigh and turned to where Elsa's security guard stood nearby keeping watch. "We'll have to split the guards up and we're gonna have to come up with a distraction." He turned back to Fiona. "You realize stealing a phone is gonna do away with any trust we've built up with these guys?"

"I have to make the call, Sam. That MI-6 agent could be already targeting my family."

"I get it. I don't like it, but I get it..." He paused and nodded towards the window. "Oh, looky who just showed up."

Turning, Fiona glanced out of the window in time to see Bly getting out of his car and walk towards the door.

"Great, more time wasted while we answer his questions." She sent Sam an accusing glare.

The daily question and answer session with the Jason Bly was something else she hated. Each day he turned up with more folders and a mass of questions. The only thing that kept her cooperative was that the more folders he brought in and the more questions he asked, the more she began to believe he was focusing on Tom Card's misdeeds rather than on what Michael had been doing over the years.

However, she still had nightmares about the autopsy report and the photograph of an unrecognizable charred corpse he had shown her when she first handed herself into the FBI nearly a year ago. If it hadn't been for a couple of mistakes in the coroner's report, which had led to her studying the burnt out vehicle more closely... She blinked slowly, doing her best to regain her calm as Bly walked through the door. She had come close to believing the lying sonuvabitch once before, she wasn't going to fall for his tricks again.

"Ah, there you all are." Jason Bly beamed. "Mr. Geary, if you would like to get your bags packed, I've arranged for you to be relocated to a position at one of Ms. Dearbon's Las Vegas hotels. You'll be leaving in thirty minutes."

The CSS agent paused and looked at the faces of the three people staring back at him. "You're free to leave Mr. Geary, honestly. But it will be safer for you if you get out of Florida for a while and Ms. Dearbon has been good enough to find you a job as her chief of security in Las Vegas."

David Geary nodded. He wasn't clear about what was going on, but it appeared that he was keeping his job and wasn't going to be charged as an accessory to federal crimes. So he headed out of the room to collect his few belongings with a slight grin on his face.

"What's going on, Bly?" Sam asked as the agent gestured for them to sit down.

"Westen has been spotted inside a CIA facility near Opa Locka. I have a contact who has informed me he was brought in five days ago and is being kept in a holding cell, though he isn't officially in custody."

Fiona sprung to her feet. "We have to get him out of there."

"Sit down, Ms. Glenanne." Bly's good humor faded. "Neither of you are going anywhere near a CIA facility run by Tom Card."

She glared at him, wanting nothing more than to rush out of the door and jump into one of the cars on the driveway.

"Fi," Sam spoke quietly. "We can't take on the whole CIA. At least we now know where Mikey is. What about Jesse?" This last part was aimed at the CSS agent.

"From the reports I've received, Westen was brought in on his own."

Fiona and Sam exchanged worried glances.

"Can't you –?" Fiona began to ask, but Bly was already shaking his head.

"Card doesn't know about my investigation and he isn't going to find out about it until I have a solid case and I'm ready to place him in handcuffs. Now, from what I've found out, Westen is being held incommunicado while Card is trying hunt down the rest of you. What I need from the two of you is a way I can reach out to Westen if he ever gets out of Card's holding cell?"

Neither Sam nor Fiona answered. Instead they stared back at him their faces set with blank expressions.

"Look, I know you must have ways of getting back in contact in case of emergencies, fall back positions, safe-houses, dead drops." He pursed his lips, looking for a way to get through to them. "It's up to you, of course. But without Michael, your deal is going to fall through. My boss wants this case cleared up as quickly as possible. If he orders me to pull the plug and turn you both loose, how long do you think Card will let you live? He will use you as leverage to keep Michael in line or, if that's too much trouble, he'll see you both rot away in prison for the rest of your lives. Either way, you will not be helping Michael get out of the mess he is in."

"And what happens to Michael, while you're gathering all this evidence? We should be finding a way to get him out of Cards hands not leaving him there to rot." Fiona was back on her feet, pacing in front of the couch. This was what she hated about working with government drones. They only knew how to follow procedures, and play it safe instead of acting.

"One thing I've learnt over the years, Ms. Glenanne, is that your boyfriend is capable of looking after himself. Now, how about helping yourselves and telling me what I need to know?"

Fiona stopped her pacing and her eyes narrowed. If looks could kill, Bly would have been six feet underground.

"Fine," she growled and turned to stalk out of the room.

"Oh, Ms. Glenanne, before you storm off, you should know the extradition request has been withdrawn. My boss looked in to the matter and has spoken to his opposite number in London. It turns out the agent who wants your head served up on a platter has been recalled to the UK. He isn't going to be a problem for you anymore."

She came to a halt, her hand resting on the door handle. The words stuck in her throat, but after a moment she turned back to Bly, the anger and dislike gone at least for now.

"Thank you," she managed to murmur and then she was gone.

Sam grinned. It was the first bit of good news they had had. "If Mike comes into Miami, you could try leaving a red cross on the side of the bus stop benches near the Federal Courthouse and around by the Bicentennial Park. It's a signal we use to arrange to meet up if we've had to separate for some reason." It stuck in Sam's throat giving up one of their codes, but he also knew it was the only way they were going to be able to reach out to his friend. "It means to be at the Pub One on the corner of North East 2nd Avenue and North East 1st Street at four o'clock... Bly, you should let us go with you. If he sees you instead of me or Fi, he might bolt."

"No." The CSS agent shook his head "I told you once, you both stay here."

"You need us, if you're serious about getting Mikey to work with you."

"Card has people out looking for both of you," Bly stated, as if explaining something to a toddler. "Michael will have to take my word. I'm not letting the three of you get together."

"You have to trust us, Bly. Last time we saw Mike, he was jittery as all hell. He sees you at our meeting spot..."

"I'll take my chances, Sam." The CSS agent grinned and then he reached down and picked up the first of the ten folders he had brought with him for the morning debrief. "Now I'd like you to tell me everything you know about Mr. Jack Vale, CEO of the Pyron Corporation, and how he ended up shot to death in front of you?"

()()()()

For Michael, the days following his arrival in solitary confinement dragged slowly. He would wake up, eat whatever food had been delivered to his room by one of the silent watchful guards, have a wash and then he would exercise until he was tired enough to fall into a dreamless sleep. Push ups, sit ups, squats and lunges followed by all the basic karate moves he could manage to perform in the small cell. Anything that would stop him thinking and worrying about what his friends were getting up to.

And as he worked his body to exhaustion, he began to make his own plans and build strategies. Card had trained him, they had worked closely together. Card also had access to all his work history and psyche reports. If he was to beat the man, he had to find a way to throw him off balance. He couldn't be the man the US Army and the CIA trained. He was going to have to dig deep and become somebody else.

However, it didn't matter how hard he worked his body or whatever device he used to keep his mind occupied during his waking hours. Each night, he was tormented by dreams filled with all that he had lost.

()()()()

He had been locked up for eight days with no communication, little food and only his own tortured thoughts for company when the cell door swung open with a bang.

"Michael." Operations Chief Card stepped over the threshold and closed the door behind him. He walked around the room. "I've been receiving some troubling reports about you." Card stopped in front of the bed, his arms crossed over his chest.

"Well, maybe, if I had something more productive to do with my time, Tom." Michael snipped back as he sat up and put his feet onto the floor.

"And that attitude won't get you out of here any quicker." Card held out the suit bag he had brought in with him. "But luckily for you, I need you. So, go with the two men waiting outside and get cleaned up and dressed, then I'll fill you in."

"A job?" He couldn't help the eagerness he felt at the thought of getting out of his prison cell. He had been doing nothing but thinking about Fiona and wondering if she and Sam and Jesse were all safe.

"A job," his former training officer agreed. "Now, go get cleaned up, Michael. You stink."

He wasted no time, taking the suit from his one-time mentor and going out through the door of his cell and following the two men waiting for him. He was left alone in a large locker room. Inside the shower area, he found a container of body wash, shampoo, a safety razor and shaving foam and best of all a toothbrush, paste and a minty fresh mouth wash.

He took his time cleaning himself up, preparing himself to start the job of bringing Tom Card down. After a long shower, and a shave, he checked out the clothes in the plastic suit bag. He frowned and pursed his lips when he realized Card had been to the loft. Fiona would be furious if she found out the CIA had gone through all their things.

Finally, one of the guards came back into the room, glaring across to where Michael stood slipping on his black suit jacket and straightening the light blue tie he now wore.

"You've had long enough, Westen. Chief Card is waiting in his office."

With one final look in the mirror, Michael flashed the guard a toothy smile and strode confidently after him along the hallway until they reached the Operations Chief's private office.

"That's a lot better," Card beamed from behind his desk as his star pupil entered into his domain. He pointed to where a small table had been laid out for lunch. "Eat something while we talk."

It should have frightened Michael how quickly he fell back into following Card's orders, but after nearly two weeks of being cooped up, he was willing to do whatever was necessary to stay out of that cell.

As he picked through the meal Card had arranged for him, he listened to his former mentor's words.

"I have something for you. It'll help me get over you cutting Porter and Pearce loose." Card paused. "It's another collection and delivery job. I'll tell you all about it and then you can go through the details with your new handler."

"New handler? I told you, I won't be your mercenary, Tom. I'll work for you, but as a partner not as a puppet. I'm sick of other people pulling my strings," Michael answered quickly. He needed to be close to Card if he was to stand any chance of bringing him down. But if Card was thinking of putting layers between them, it meant he would never gain any useful intelligence.

"In time, Michael, I promise in time. Let's build up a little trust first," Card returned smoothly.

"Trust? You got my brother -" Michael bit off his words, gained control and then spoke again. "Fine. But after this job, you'll read me in?"

Card's face broke into a self-satisfied smile. "Lose the attitude and, after you do this job, if I get a satisfactory report back, then we'll talk about it."

Michael scowled and the dark part of him that somehow always spoke with Larry Sizemore's voice whispered into his ear, pointing out how easy it would be to snap Tom Card's neck and then take his chances on getting out in one piece.

"The job is simple, Westen. There is a Mexican national called Rafael Montero being held nearby. He has a meeting with the US Marshals at the federal building tomorrow at 13:00 hours. I want you to work out a way for him to miss that hearing and instead make it on to a boat waiting for him at Cutler Bay."

"Montero? Isn't that the Cartel guy you sent me after?" Michael didn't like the way the conversation was going. Had Card been using him from the start?

"Yes and Mr. Montero has been very cooperative. The information he's shared with the CIA has helped to close down three of the Zeyes cartels cocaine manufacturing sites in Vera Cruz. He's now waiting to be delivered into the hands of the federal witness protection service. Unfortunately for Mr. Montero, I need him to go back to Mexico as part of a deal I've made with the cartel." The older man smirked as Michael raised his eyebrows in shock.

"You're handing a witness over to the cartel? He'll be lucky if all they do is kill him. How does that help anybody? He can be—"

"Let me put it in a way you'll understand, Michael." Card was now standing over him, reminding Michael of long ago lectures on spycraft. The Operations Chief continued to give his former student the bad news. "There are photographs lying in a CIA evidence box showing former CIFA officer Jesse Porter at Rafeal Montero's side when DEA Agent Kemp was killed and his body thrown out of a window. With Montero out of the country, there will no need for anybody to go hunting through the evidence in that particular box. Do you see where I'm going here, Michael?"

Even before Card finished speaking, the younger man was on his feet, the chair he had been sitting on skidding backwards and then tumbling over, as he violently slammed his former training officer up against the wall, his fingers grabbing hold of the older man's jacket lapels. "You sent Jesse in there. That agent was the traitor..."

"Let go of me, Michael." Card refused to be cowed and slowly the younger man backed down. "Good boy... Mr. Montero's return to the cartel is a goodwill gesture on my part after their loss of three valuable processing centers."

Michael was sickened by the thought that a man he'd held in such high regard was making side deals with a cartel. He looked down at the table, his eyes straying to where Card was casually throwing down several photographs showing Jesse going into Agent Kemp's home with Rafael Montero and his bodyguards. Another one of them caught him stood next to Montero in the upstairs window with the DEA Agent's body tumbling to the ground below and lastly one of Jesse holding an automatic weapon and emptying into what looked like a DEA tactical van.

"So, you agree it's in the best interests of Mr. Porter if Senor Montero goes back home." Card barred his teeth in a confident grin.

Shifting through the photographs, Michael nodded his agreement, accepting the inevitable. Montero would be killed. In return, Card would get to make his deal with the Zeyes Cartel and he would get his chance to show his former training officer he was trustworthy.

"Excellent." Card straightened up his jacket and ran his hands over his hair. "Let's go and meet your new boss."

It was a short walk along a narrow corridor accompanied by the two agents who had previously escorted him to the shower. Following Card into an interrogation room, Michael found himself facing a dark skinned woman dressed in a charcoal suit with a white shirt and her hair pulled into a slick pony tail.

"Michael Westen. Meet Olivia Riley. She's your contact until I say otherwise." With that, Card left the two alone.

His head was reeling at the depths Card had fallen to and the caliber of the agents he was taking with him. Michael knew who Olivia Riley was and was trying to come to terms with her being another traitor. She was at the top of the counter intelligence game, one of the most highly regarded players in the Agency. He had two of her books at home in the loft and had read both of them more than once. She smiled at him full of bravado; this was a woman who knew exactly how good she was.

"Michael Westen, I've heard a lot of good things about you." She held out her hand, her grip strong and business like.

She handed him a thick file and gestured for him to sit down at the only table in the room.

"We've seen to it that you'll be in charge of Montero's escort to the Federal Building. Here's the details of the time and route you and your target are going to take. You need to come up with something that we can sell to the authorities to make it look like you were escorting Montero to the Federal Building when you were ambushed... You know the sort of thing... I'll give you an hour to come up with something."

"An hour? I-" He dropped into the chair and opened the file.

"Chief Card has informed me you do your best work under pressure, Westen." She flashed her teeth in broad smile.

"Where will he be going to?" He glanced down at the stack of maps before him.

"You don't need to know that." She scoffed. "Just do your job if you want to stop your friends from being the prime suspects in an international manhunt."

"I need to know if the guy has to be in good condition when we deliver him. Where -" He stopped when she held up a hand.

"We're handing him back to his boss. I don't think they'll be worried about a few knocks and bumps."

Michael bit down on his lip, not liking the job at all now that Riley had just confirmed she was in as deep as the Operations Chief. Montero would be killed, which wasn't the problem as the man was a ruthless killer himself. But Card and now Riley getting into bed with a Mexican drug cartel was a very big problem as far as he was concerned....... He was going to need to document this, some how find a way to take photographs and make recordings... This could be enough to show the CIA that Card wasn't the hero everybody thought he was.

She was back exactly an hour later.

Leaning over his shoulder to see what he had come up with, she inquired, "So, hotshot, what have you come up with?"

()()()()

The following day.......

Staging a scene is one of the most important deception tactics in espionage. You're telling a story – arranging the evidence for someone to discover so they will believe what you want them to believe. If it works, there's nothing like it.....

Early on the morning of his first assignment as one of Tom Card's errand boys, Michael was informed the Federal Marshal's office had received intelligence that the Zeyes Cartel were eager to get their hands on their former sicario, Rafael Montero. With this in mind, the CIA officer coordinating the handover made the decision to tighten up his security measures. So, while Michael and two other agents were still going to escort Senor Montero to the federal courthouse, as previously agreed, now three decoy vehicles were going to leave at the same time, all taking different routes into Miami.

Michael sat on the roomy back seat of a large SUV with bullet proof panels and blacked out windows doing his best to hide the nervous anticipation which rolled over him at the start of any new assignment. Beside him, Montero sat fidgeting, the skinny, highly strung Mexican was constantly in motion, twitching and shuffling his feet as he tried to peer out of the blacken window.

Finally, the driver put the vehicle into drive and they left the secret CIA holding facility hidden away near Opa Locka Airport under the guise of being a document storage building.

"How long is this going to take, man?" The former sicario asked, obviously nervous about being out in the open.

"Not long... All your troubles will be over soon, Rafael," Michael soothed the man.

Instead of turning onto Langley Road, which would have taken them straight to the I-95, they crossed over the highway and drove onto a narrow back road. When the SUV began to bounce and sway on the uneven surface, Michael leaned over and casually secured a seat belt around the prisoner.

"Will you sit still now? Or do I have to put these on?" He waved a set of handcuffs in Montero's face. Glancing forward, he saw the agent sat in the front passenger seat grinning back at him in the rear view mirror.

The vehicle took a sweeping corner where the road was lined by trees on either side, and Michael surreptitiously drew his own seatbelt across his lap and over his chest, giving it a sharp tug to lock it in place.

The loud deafening boom was secondary to the jolt as the SUV suddenly went skyward, before crashing down back to earth, landing precariously on it's left hand tires until it teetered and ended up on it's side. The two CIA agents in the front were stunned by the explosion and subsequent crash. Without the benefit of seatbelts, they had been tossed about in their seats only saved by the airbags, which had helped to cushion their bodies from the glass and twisted metal.

In the back, Michael released his seatbelt and that of Montero. But before either of them could find a way out of the vehicle, a door opened and hands reached inside, pulling them both out. Montero, with a gun barrel pressed tightly against his head, could only watch as his last line of defense took a beating from the two masked men trying to restrain him. Finally, Michael Westen went down with a blow to the head by the stock of an assault rifle.

The two CIA agents in the front of the SUV crawled out just in time to see one of their own being thrown into the back of a black panel van in handcuffs.

It's unfortunate, but true, that no make-up can simulate blood and bruises well enough to stand up to close observation. So, if getting beaten up helps to sell your cover, you do what's necessary to get the job done and nothing conveys your innocence like a busted up face and a few cracked ribs.......

The assault had taken mere seconds and it wasn't long before the black van was off the back roads and onto the North West 135th heading towards the I-95. As the vehicle picked up speed, the only sound in the back was the harsh rapid breaths of Rafael Montero as he realized he was now in the hands of his former friends. With a thick black bag over his head, he couldn't see what had happened to the CIA agent who had fought back so valiantly against the cartel mercenaries who had captured them.

They hadn't been traveling very long when Montero heard muffled shouting and the sounds of another fight. He flinched and tried to call out as something heavy landed on top of him and then he felt hands dragging him up onto his feet and the black bag being pulled from his head. He stared in relief at the bloody and beaten sight of the CIA agent.

"Hey, you with me? We've gotta get out of here." Michael pointed to the two moaning men dressed in black with masks hiding their features. "They'll wake up soon. C'mon…"

"Who are you? What happened? Where are we going?" Montero jabbered as he tried to keep up with the agent.

"I'm Michael Westen." Michael tried to smile but his split lip and broken cheekbone made the movement too painful. "It looks like there's a leak in the CIA. I'm gonna to get you to safety." He looked about, checking out their surroundings. "Okay, that's Miami Dade College, North Campus, behind us. We'll get a car from there and I'll take you somewhere safe."

"You should call your boss. Tell him what's happened." Montero crouched down while casting fearful glances back at the black van.

"No! Didn't you hear me? I think there's a leak. They knew exactly where to hit us. We're better off on our own." Michael urged the other man to follow him over to the campus parking lot.

He moved amongst the vehicles until he found just what he was looking for: an older model beige compact which the owner had failed to alarm. Breaking in was easy, as was starting up the car. With a quick twist of a few wires under the steering column, Michael had the car running and they were away.

"Hey, it might be best if you kept your head down. You know, lie down on the back seat and stay outta sight until we reach a safe house."

With his willing prisoner curled up out of sight on the back seat, Michael drove leisurely away from the college and over onto the I-95. He had no need to look for a tail. He already knew Olivia Riley was following him from a distance. He also knew that the search for the kidnapped prisoner and CIA agent was being directed in the opposite direction to where they were traveling by another of Tom Card's lackeys working in the communication office.

When your plan goes right, and you have the bad guy willingly place his life in your hands, there's no feeling like it in the world. You just have to make sure you keep up the performance until the job is done......

When he slowed down to leave the interstate, Michael caught sight of Montero peeking up to glance out of the window before relaxing back down as the he recognized they were heading towards the federal courthouse.

"So what's the plan here, man?" Montero whined. "I mean, if you can't trust your own guys, what're we gonna do?"

"I'm going to call the Marshals and make arrangements with them to meet us some place else." Michael pulled his cell from his pocket and dialed a number.

Speaking into the dial tone, he made sure the "Marshal" on the other end of the call knew the dire circumstances they were in and asked for a safe location to make the hand over as the courthouse was now compromised. He nodded his head vigorously and when he put his cell phone away, he gave Montero a reassuring smile.

"They have a place for us out near Cutler Bay... We'll head there now. Lie back down, the cartel guys hunting you know what you look like. Let's not give them a target."

"How about taking the hand cuffs off, man? I mean I'm not going to run away from the only guy who can get me outta here." The prisoner held his hands out, but Michael was already back to concentrating on the road.

Pretty soon, Montero would be getting his comeuppance and he would be one step closer to getting Card to trust him. Then, along with the recording Jesse had made when he had burst into his former mentor's hotel room, the proof of Card's involvement with a cartel should be enough to discredit the Operations Chief.

Turning off North Miami Avenue, Michael drove along North East 3rd Street as he made his way back towards the I-95. It was just after he drove beneath the underpass that he suddenly did a double take as he spotted a large red X painted onto the concrete support on a bus stop bench.

A little further along the street, there was another mark on the next bench. He sucked in a breath and winced as his freshly bruised ribs complained. He had no idea how long the signal for an urgent meeting had been there. He glanced down at his watch and then picked up speed. If everything went on schedule, he could possibly make the meeting spot today, as long as Riley didn't tail him all the way to the drop off point. As he drove, his mind was filled with guilt that his friends had needed him and he hadn't been there for them. In trying to save them, had he left them vulnerable to another unseen enemy?

So wrapped up in thoughts of what might have happened while he was off seeking vengeance for Nate, Michael drove onto the interstate as if on auto-pilot. It was only when, half an hour later, as he pulled off the South Dixie Highway and moved onto suburban streets that he managed forced his attention back onto the job in hand. Glancing in his rear view mirror, he took in the sight of his traveling companion still suitably cowed, keeping his head down and behaving himself, before checking out the view of road behind him.

This was where Riley was supposed to peel away and return to Miami to make sure the hunt for the missing CIA agent and prisoner was kept as far away from Cutler Bay as possible. Michael was hoping the task of coordinating a multi-agency manhunt was going to keep everybody busy enough for him to take the risk of calling in to the emergency meeting spot during the agreed time.

Pursing his lips, he looked down at his watch. It was nearly two o clock and, up ahead, he saw the double security gates and the long driveway leading to the Zeyes Cartel's private dock and waiting yacht. If things went smoothly, he would have time to find out if his friends were safe. With that thought in mind, he picked up speed.

At the sound of the gates opening and closing, Montero sat up hesitatingly looking around, as Michael drove at speed along the driveway leading to a magnificent mansion house standing next to the water.

Using the mirror, Michael watched warily as Montero stared at the house. "Whose place is this?" the sicario asked as he began to straighten his clothes as best he could while handcuffed.

"It's a drug lord's mansion," Michael answered. "It's going up for auction in a coupla of weeks. That's why we get to use it." He grinned and pulled up outside the wide solid wooden front door. "They must be waiting inside."

He let Montero walk in front of him, reaching round the smaller man to open the door for him. As soon as they both stepped through the door, Montero froze to the spot at the sight of his former boss and ten of his former comrades.

"It's a trap! Madre de Dios! Get me out of here!" He tried to turn and run, but the CIA agent was blocking his escape, and, before he could get round him, a bag was drop over his head and he was carried struggling out of room.

Michael stared warily at the cartel members facing him. He was outgunned and definitely outnumbered. If this was Card's version of a 9mm retirement party, Michael knew he was a dead man.

"Senor," Ramiro Salazar smiled grimly. "Thank your boss for this show of friendship. We are grateful for the return of our employee."

Michael swallowed thickly, plastered a wide confident smile on his face and backed up to the door. "I'll be sure to tell him." He reached behind and opened the door. "You were told the rest of the deal?"

"Si... It is to look like you escaped, but unfortunately you were unable to rescue the traitor Montero." Salazar wheezed and took a deep breath, holding the oxygen mask up to his face. "Adios, Mister C.I.A."

Michael turned and bolted as Salazar's men opened fire, their bullets whizzing by him. He made it to a conveniently parked pickup truck and turned the keys thoughtfully left in the ignition. Driving away as fast as the truck could go. Michael didn't stop when he reached the security gates. Instead he smashed through them and started driving north.

A quick glance at his watch told him he didn't have a lot of time left to make it to the meeting place at the allotted time. Frowning, he knew he was going to have to make some changes to his appearance if he wanted to avoid being picked up as soon as he reached the city. With the kidnapping of a high profile prisoner and a CIA officer, every law enforcement agency would be out searching for him.

For a short while he was going to have to lose the blood stained and rumpled suit he was wearing. With that in mind as soon as he spotted the Dade County Public Works depot, he pulled off the road and went searching for a disguise.

A quick look showed him the depot was deserted. So, moving fast, he ran the short distance to the first of the storage units and, after making sure there was no witnesses, he busted the lock and disappeared inside. When he stepped back out a few minutes later, he was dressed in the plain grey uniform of a public works employee and held the keys to the one of the trucks parked up in the lot behind the building.

()()()()

Pub One was a local dive bar that had long glass windows, covered by horizontal blinds and a large square bar set in the middle of the room, which was lined with plenty of stools, for those who wanted to sit and drink while watching the oversized TV screen showing the latest sports programs.

The tables at the back of the establishment gave a great view of anybody coming in through the door and the usual crowds of regulars and tourists meant there was plenty of cover, because it was a well-established fact nobody but a crazy person would risk starting a fight with so many witnesses.

When Michael arrived at half past three, the place had only been open for half an hour, but most of the bar stools were already taken up. In front of the large windows at the front of the bar, two men dressed in work garb played pool and a group of what look liked tourists were gathered around the juke box.

Choosing one of the few remaining seats at the bar, which would give him a good view of any new arrivals, Michael ordered large scotch and settled down to wait. The alcohol burnt the cut on his lip and he raised a hand to gently probe the area before moving on to check out knot on the back of his skull from the beating he had taken earlier.

The two agents who had accompanied him in the vehicle with Montero hadn't been in on the extraction. They were, as far as Michael was aware, decent hard working CIA personnel and right now they would be selling the picture he had painted for them. The fight and the injuries he had received were the final props in that story.

Staring down at the near empty glass in his hand, he glanced at his watch. It was four o clock..... Where were they?

He fought against the rush of fear that he was too late, they had needed him and he had failed them both...... Just like he failed Nate and, more recently, Carson Halliday.....

He shifted uncomfortable on the bar stool. He missed Fiona Gleananne more than he cared to admit and the thought that he hadn't been there when she needed him the most was killing him..... One of them should have arrived by now. They both couldn't be …...

He would not let his thoughts go there. Quickly finishing the first drink, he ordered a second. He needed something to keep him from flying apart and the alcohol seemed to at least numb his mixed up emotions....... He would wait until he finished this drink. He could give them that long.

Just as he lifted the glass to his lips, a familiar figure walked through the door and instinctively Michael ducked his head down to hide his features.... Jason Bly, what the hell was he doing here and now? 

Michael kept watch, his fears for his friends growing as the CSS agent took a seat at the table where Sam, Fiona and Jesse should have been sitting.

Cautiously, he got off his stool and made his way through the growing crowd, his eyes skimming over the men and women beginning to fill the bar in time for "Happy Hour" as he tried to work out if the CSS agent really was alone.

"Michael Westen, take a seat." Bly kicked the chair opposite him out from under the table.

For a moment, Michael hesitated. The other man was too damned relaxed, too sure of himself. The spy sensed a trap, but he just couldn't see what it was... Taking one last wary look around the bar, he wearily lowered himself down onto the hard wooden chair.

"It's okay, I just want to talk," the counter intelligent agent added. As he stared at Michael's bruised and battered features. It was possible to see the cogs turning in his brain. "You look - tired… bad day at the office? I have to say, I prefer the suits to your new uniform….Mr. Souza?"

Michael glanced down at the tag sewn on his borrowed shirt and then sighed. "It's been a long coupla weeks," he agreed. "Why are you here? And where are Fi and Sam?"

"They are both being well looked after," came the business like reply. "But before we speak about them, I'm here to talk about how we can help each other. I have a deal for you – and your friends."

Instantly, Michael felt his anger rising. It was all he could do not to fly over the table and choke the CSS agent. He watched as the other man paled...... He was right, this was a trap! The bastard was using his friends as leverage. Just like Anson Fullerton had and just like Tom Card was attempting to do now.

"Calm down, Michael. Let me explain. I've been tasked with investigating Tom Card and, from what I have found out so far, I know he's no White Knight and I know he was or is still targeting you."

"You're going after Card?" Michael didn't bother to hide his disbelief. Right now he trusted nobody, least of all the man who had told Fiona he had been killed in an explosion in an effort to get her to roll over on him.

"I'm offering you a deal, a chance to get out from under Card. Sam and Fiona have already taken my offer." Bly slid two thin files onto the table and Michael flickered through them. Recognizing his friend's signatures, he looked up again.

"Where are they?" He had his anger under control now, his heart and mind icing over..... If Bly had hurt either of his friends...

"They're safe."

Michael smiled grimly. Leaning forward until he spoke directly into the other's ear. "Believe me when I say, you do not want to do this. Let them go and back off."

Bly eased himself back in his chair. He had expected Westen to be difficult, but not so outright hostile. When he stared into the icy blue eyes glaring back at him, he could see he was facing the man who could have possibly done all the things written about him in the original burn notice dossier.

"Michael, I know what Card has done to you and your family, but whatever you are planning, it can only end one way. You need this deal; your friends need this deal. Help me bring Card down."

Michael pursed his lips tightly together, shaking his head in denial. He could not bring himself to trust again. Too many people had let him down in the past. He wanted no part of whatever game was being played this time..... He would finish Tom Card himself.

"Release Sam and Fiona," He ordered, getting to his feet...... He was done with this. "You won't get another warning."

Bly put out a hand catching hold of the spy's wrist. "My investigation is going ahead, with or without your cooperation. There has been too much damage done to the intelligence community already to let this continue. You are in a unique position here, Michael, to do some real good. Both Sam and Fiona signed papers agreeing to be CSS witnesses; they are in protective custody. I have a team watching out for your mother and nephew, protecting them in case Card makes an attempt on their lives. I also have your little friend Barry safely hidden away."

The CSS agent waited to see if the significance of Barry's capture registered with the spy..... Surely he had to know that Bly now had the recording of Card admitting his guilt. 

"But without your testimony and cooperation, Tom Card will most likely walk away and then what do you think will happen to your friends?" He released his hold on Michael's wrist, half expecting to have the man storm out or hit him...... Axe was wrong when he said Westen was jittery. This man was teetering on the edge of a full blown meltdown. It was then that Michael Westen surprised him, when he suddenly dropped back into the chair.

"Let Fi and Sam go. Drop all the charges and I'll help you."

Bly shook his head. "Not going to happen."

"Then forget it." The tightly wound spy was back on his feet, turning to walk away.

"Okay, wait. You can see them, how about that? Be here tomorrow, I'll bring Sam. How does that sound?"

Michael barred his teeth in what might be classed as a smile.

"Both of them, or no deal."

He paused and looked at his watch. Card would be expecting him to make an appearance soon. But the pull to see his friends was too much. "And I want to see them, both of them, now."

Agent Jason Bly sighed, this wasn't how this meeting was supposed to go. When he was in charge of a mission he was the one who dictated the terms, potential assets did as they were told. "Fine." He reluctantly agreed.

However Michael Westen wasn't an ordinary asset.


	23. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Agent Bly takes Michael to meet his friends hiding out on Palm Island.

For a spy, the worst thing that can happen is to become someone else's asset. You do anything you can to avoid it, making sure there's nothing people can grab on to and use as leverage. You move through life unattached, keeping the world at a distance. It's a hard way to live, but there is a cold logic to it. Love nothing and nothing you love can be used against you. Once you violate that rule and make that connection with someone, you've handed your enemies the key to destroying you........

The words reverberated in Michael's head. It was a hard truth, a fact of life, a cold hard piece of logic which he had lived by for the majority of his life. He knew how easy it was to convince a man to betray his job or even his country when the right piece of leverage was applied. He had done it himself many times over the years. Threaten a man's family, and unless he was a monster, he would do whatever you asked of him.

It was less than six months ago that Anson Fullerton had ruthlessly demonstrated with devastating effect how well the ploy worked, even against trained operatives who should know better than to allow their feelings for friends and family to overrule the call of duty and honor.

The dark haired spy glanced across to the front passenger seat of the government supplied Ford Crown Victoria sedan which was carrying him to see his friends. Now he was about to let another man manipulate him into becoming asset yet again. But unlike Anson Fullerton and Tom Card, Jason Bly was by all accounts a by-the-book agent with a penchant for going after CIA operatives who abused their power. So this time, if the CSS agent was telling him the truth and could deliver on his promise to protect Fiona and Sam, he would willingly dance to his one time enemy's tune. At least that was what he was telling himself now.

The beating he had taken earlier, mixed with the alcohol he had knocked back more recently, was all playing hell with his ability to think straight. To become an asset, to allow himself to be used for another's purpose, even if it was the only move left on the board which stood a chance of keeping everybody out of prison and alive, still felt wrong.

There was still a little voice whispering in his ear, reminding him how Tom Card had lied to him, betrayed him in the worst possible way. The former training officer had as good as sanctioned the killing of Nate with his " failure is not an option" speech to the assassin Tyler Grey. The man deserved to die and, simply put, Michael knew that Bly would play it straight. The CSS agent would want to bring Card in alive to face a trial, whereas all Michael wanted was to see the man dead.

Michael closed his eyes, and breathed deeply, trying to calm the conflict taking place in his head. He was supposed to be rebuilding a relationship with his former training officer, regaining the man's trust so he could gain access to the information he needed to ruin Operations Chief Card's reputation and free his friends from all suspicion of wrong doing.

Right now, he should be walking into the Federal Courthouse building and announcing he was the kidnapped CIA agent who had been guarding the escaped prisoner Rafael Montero. The bruises on his face and mottling to his ribs, all evidence of the beating he had taken, and the pick up truck he had abandoned near to Cutler Bay full of bullet holes providing the proof of his daring escape.

He definitely shouldn't be sitting in a vehicle belonging to a Counter Surveillance Service agent, driving to a safe house to see his friends. If word reached Card that the newest recruit into his conspiracy was consorting with a rival agency, it would end any chance of him ever getting close to his former training officer and ruin his one chance to save his friends from either a life on the run or being left to rot in some CIA sanctioned prison.

Only, it wasn't his one chance any more... And there he was, full circle again. He could go his own way, prove to everybody he was the heartless sonuvabitch his old reputation made him out to be or he could do something which his whole being railed against; he could become the man riding up front's asset.

"So, Westen..." At the sound of Bly's voice, Michael opened his eyes and paid attention. "We've got some time until we arrive at your friends location. So how about passing the time by you telling me what you know about an agent I sent out to Mumbai: Carson Halliday... You were in Mumbai during that recent unpleasantness, weren't you?"

The agent's softly spoken question caused Michael to sit up a little straighter. He had been expecting this, ever since he had spied Bly walking into the Pub One bar. Making eye contact with the other man, he replied in a similar quiet tone.

"If it wasn't for him, we would have never got out of the hotel in one piece. He saved our lives."

"So you knew who he was?" Bly asked with a hint of suspicion.

Michael sighed and, just for a second pursed his lips, then he began to explain. "He told me you were looking into the death of Anson Fullerton and that you'd been blocked at every turn. So, you'd sent him out there to watch Agent Pearce and gain her confidence. He was a good man, Bly. He prevented Dan- Agent Pearce falling to her death and then took a bullet from one of the terrorists. There was nothing any of us could do to save him."

"I know that, Westen. I read the autopsy report and I had to visit his mom and dad and explain to them that their son had died in the line of duty. So why were you there?"

Bly was drifting onto ground where Michael wasn't quite ready to go, at least not yet. Not until he had seen his friends and was positive that they were working with the CSS agent of their own free will. "I'd rather not say. At least not yet." He added a smile to lessen the impact of his lack of cooperation.

Bly sighed, his eyes narrowing. "The way this deal works, Westen, is that you answer my questions and in return I keep your friends safe and out of prison."

"And once I've spoken to my friends, and checked that this is what they want, then I'll be happy to tell you all I know."

"Fine," the CSS agent replied smoothly. "I'll hold you to that."

Sitting back, Michael returned to the task of counting turns, trying to work out where he was being taken to, and worrying about what he was going to say to Fiona when he got there. He had no illusions about how angry she would be after he had run out out on her yet again. His hand drifted from his lap to brush against his jaw. When Fiona was pissed, it was usually his cheek or jaw, or occasionally his gut, which bore the initial retaliation.

The first time she had caught up with him after he had left her in Dublin, she had been a lot more aggressive than she had been more recently when he let her down. Then again, that first time he now knew, he had come very close to breaking her heart when he disappeared without a word. When she had ambushed him in a Tripoli hotel room, she had nearly brained him with a blow to the head before handcuffing him to the bed. What happened afterwards had left him dazed, thoroughly confused and looking forward to the next time their paths crossed.

Michael glanced at the man sitting up front. The chances of this reunion going the same way as that first one were non-existent, but the memory was still there. The car slowed and Michael realized they were turning off the causeway and driving onto the exclusive residential area of Palm Island.  
What was Bly up to, using such a high profile safe-house, in such a high class neighborhood? These types of places were normally reserved for special guests of the agency, not witnesses whose whereabouts were supposed to be kept top secret.......

A few minutes later, the long sedan pulled onto the driveway of a large Mediterranean style house and then into the attached garage. As Michael reached for the handle to let himself out, Bly put a hand out and stopped him. "I'm letting you have this meeting, but there are rules, Westen, or rather expectations. You hand over your gun and any other weapons you're carrying. Don't worry, you'll get them back. But after your little heart to heart with your friends, I do expect you to keep your word and start cooperating with my investigation."

Michael glanced at his watch. It was time to make his choice. Blinking, he stared at his reflection in the darkened glass covering the window, but he wasn't seeing himself. All he could see was a pair of blue-green eyes and all he could think about was keeping her safe. Wordlessly, he handed over his weapon to the agent and then, before he stepped out of the car, he offered Bly a sign of his willingness to cooperate.

"In Mumbai, I was there to extract a man called Sam Pandit. He brought back a piece of military tech. I don't think it was for the CIA's benefit. Sorry, I have no idea what it was he brought back; only that whatever it was, it was on an encrypted thumb drive. If I were you, I'd start by finding out all about Pandit." He pushed the door open. "I don't have much time. Can we go now?"

Entering the kitchen, Michael paused to scan the room. The place appeared to be in the middle of a rebuild. The walls were all covered in a fresh layer of paint and there were stacks of large marble tiles waiting to be laid on the floor.

"A nice place you've got here," he commented. "This is new. The CSS keeping their witnesses busy with a bit of re-modelling these days?"

"This place belongs to Axe's girlfriend. It's got nothing to do with the agency. I guess she wanted her boyfriend to be comfortable." He gestured towards another door across lobby. "Your friends are in there."

Taking a deep breath, Michael paused with his hand on the door knob, preparing himself for their anger and disappointment.

As a spy, you don't have to explain yourself much. You can disappear for a month and nobody asks questions. As a civilian, you don't have that luxury. Eventually people expect a good explanation when you disappear, whether or not you have one..........

Opening the door, he slipped into the room silently. Standing directly across from where he stood, Fiona and Sam were deep in a whispered conversation. They both looked paler than he remembered, but that could be explained by Bly doing his job and keeping them inside. He wondered briefly how long they had been in CSS custody and how Bly had managed to find and capture them...... They should have listened to him and stayed out of Miami.

()()()()

Sam Axe had watched with growing concern as the four agents who Jason Bly had left to watch over them had gone from relaxed to full alert status with barely a pause in between. Guns were being checked, the front door had been bolted and an agent now stood on guard. The remaining three agents hurried about the house checking all the windows before the curtains were drawn closed.

"Hey, Trent, what's going on?" Eventually he couldn't take being kept out of the loop any longer. If there was trouble coming their way, they had a right to know it and to defend themselves.

The oldest and most senior of Bly's watchdogs stopped in his tracks and glanced quickly down at his watch. Letting out a sigh, he turned to where Fiona Glenanne was coming down the stairs in front of his second in command.

"Well. Yes, okay it's time for you both to be told anyway." Even as he was speaking, his eyes were constantly flickering over to where his men stood on guard duty, now the building had been locked down to his satisfaction. There was one man covering the front door, a second on the kitchen door and the third, the agent who had escorted Fiona downstairs was now going back up the stairs to keep watch from higher ground.

"Take a seat." Trent gestured to the couch. "Your friend Westen is on his way here for a visit." He broke the news abruptly. "You'll have maybe five minutes together. Please don't give us any trouble." Then having dropped his bombshell, the agent turned to go out of the door.

"Michael's coming here?" Fiona was on her feet, rapidly covering the space between the couch and the agent, catching hold of Trent's arm before he could leave. "What's happened? Why is he -?"

"I'm sorry, ma'am, you'll have to ask him. He'll be here in a few minutes. Just wait here." He jerked his arm out of her grip and closed the door in her face.

"Fi, hey Fiona, let him go, sister." Sam got to his feet, calling out as he saw her reach for the door handle.

"But -" She turned, as the former SEAL's hand landed flat on the door to hold it shut.

"Mike'll be here any minute. You heard the man. Do you really want to piss these guys off now?"

"You would think they could have given us a bit more notice," she complained.

"I seriously doubt Mikey is gonna be worried whether or not you've shaved your legs or put yar lipstick on," he replied, deliberately trying to divert her attention away from the government agent on the other side of the door.

She flashed him a glare, but kept her mouth closed, not letting him draw her into an argument. Instead she walked back to the couch and sat down heavily.

"Why do you think he's coming here now?" she asked. "Do you think he -"

Sam wasn't listening to her words, he was watching how her left hand had settled splayed out over her perfectly flat, toned belly. Ever since she had told him she was pregnant, Sam had found himself becoming more protective and hyper-aware of his best friend's girl. At the moment, it was as if he could read her mind and he couldn't believe she would be so stupid.

"Fi, you can't tell him," he hissed, looking guiltily around the room in case one of Bly's agents had snuck into the room unnoticed.

He watched the way her eyes widened and her lips parted, a sure sign she was up to something.

"Sam, I'm not stupid. But if he's coming here, it must be so Bly can get his statement. With what we've said and all that Michael has on Card -" she replied in little more than a whisper. They were both fully aware that there could still be listening devices they missed in their last sweep of the room.

"We've got nothin' but hearsay, Tinkerbell. It's Mikey's word against that of the highly decorated Chief of Operations for South America. Who do you think has more credibility? No, Mike is gonna have to pull something pretty convincing outta the bag and he's gonna have to do it using all those time consuming, official government procedures that you hate so much."

"All the more reason to tell him now," Fiona argued softly.

"Ah huh, lady. You keep your mouth shut til all this is over. Mike doesn't need you announcing he's gonna be a daddy in front of Bly and his team."

She was on her feet, pushing the older larger man backwards. "And what about what I need, Sam? I need to know what he thinks, if he - I..." She let him go and stepped back, her arms folded over her chest. "I need to know if I'm going to be doing this alone. We'll tell Bly we have to talk in private."

Sam reached out tentatively, giving her arm a gentle rub, trying in his own way to offer her a little comfort. He felt like a total bastard saying what he had, but it was necessary. He was pretty sure that until Tom Card was locked away in some deep dark CIA black site prison, they were all in danger. Michael needed his head clear and his mind focused on the task. Thinking about a pregnant girlfriend and an unborn child was not going to help him do what was required.

"You have to wait, Fi. It'll all be over soon. You can tell him then."

"Over!" She spat the word out. "It'll never be over. If I wait until Michael has finished with all this damn spy business, our child will be applying for colleges before he knows."

"Guys..."

The single quietly spoken word put an end to their heated discussion and instantly Fiona turned away to cross the room to her prodigal boyfriend. Sam hung back partially to let his friends have time to greet each other and partially so he could see what effect coming under Tom Card's influence had had on the dark haired spy.

He watched the way Michael was standing in full fight or flight mode and the way his eyes flickered as he carefully scanned the room, looking for hidden dangers and searching out exit strategies. During his military career, Sam had seen that look many times before. It was the look of a man who had been out in the field for too long and was about to crack.

Fiona was in front of the tightly wound spy, her hand reaching up towards his face. Sam gulped and hurried over. He had to make sure Fiona kept her bit of news to herself. If she told Mikey in his present state, the former SEAL was in no doubt the spy would come unglued.

()()()()

Fiona was taking her own inventory of Michael's condition, welcoming him with a soft smile. She ran a practiced eye over his frame, ignoring the beige utility uniform he was wearing so she could concentrate on the important things. He was strung tighter than a bow, exuding tension in every muscle. From the set of his jaw, through the stiffness in his shoulders and down to the way he moved, he was ready to attack or defend in a micro second. His own eyes after glancing in her direction were never still as he searched the room for dangers.

"Michael?" She stopped in front of him her hand, raising up toward his bruised and swollen cheek. He momentarily flinched away from her touch and then, as skin met skin, he leaned into her palm, visibly relaxing.

"What happened to you?" she asked, though she was already making her own assumptions.

The bruises on his face came from fists. From the way he stood and held himself, she could guess there were some bruised or maybe cracked ribs hidden by his shirt. As her hand went from his cheek to cradle the back of his neck, her fingertips brushed over a lump on his head. Frowning, she pulled him closer so their foreheads touched and she wrinkled her nose at the strong smell of scotch on his breath..... Michael, drinking heavily, was never a good sign.

For that second, it was as if they were alone. Everybody else faded away and just the two of them remained, her hand on the back of his neck gently massaging away the tension.

"We need to talk," She murmured as she lifted her face to lay a soft kiss on his lips.

Sam was wrong. Michael was losing himself. Whatever game he was playing with Tom Card was killing him inside. He needed something to bring him back, something to fight for......

With the sound of her voice, the spell was broken. He pulled away from her, going back to eyeing the CSS agents suspiciously as they in turn kept a close eye on the notorious burnt spy.

"Later," he replied lowly and then he turned to where Bly stood a little way behind them. "Bly, you promised me five minutes – alone. I'm guessing you've got eyes and ears in here. So, you and your men can wait outside."

Both Fiona and Sam were surprised when Bly ordered his men to leave. "Five minutes, Westen. Have your little secret meeting, then we talk."

Michael nodded and then waited for the door to close on the agents, leaving them alone, before turning his attention back to Fiona.

"You look good." As he spoke, his hand drifted to her hair, his fingers combing through her auburn locks.

"Don't lie..." she snapped, having no illusions about her present appearance. "You know, I'd promised myself I'd knock the crap outta you the next time you ran out on me." She poked him lightly in the ribs and the way he winced confirmed her suspicion he was hiding at least one damaged rib. "But it looks like somebody beat me to it."

"This?" He gestured to his face. "This is nothing, honestly." And there was the toothy smile that he thought made him look sincere.

"Hey, Mikey. Good to see you, brother." Sam stepped into the conversation, having given the couple a few minutes to themselves. "We heard Card had you locked up."

"No... well, yeah he did. But I'm working with him now."

"Michael, no!" Fiona interrupted. She had been worried about what the consequences of assassinating Card would be, especially now. But she definitely did not want Michael working for the bastard. If he wasn't going to avenge his brother's death, they should be walking away and leaving the CIA to deal with their own mess. "Tell Bly what he wants to know and let's -"

"No." Michael shook his head. "I – I have to be there to end this."

"You have far more -"

"Fiona," Sam snapped out a warning, talking over the Irishwoman before she said something they had both decided the spy didn't need to know right now.

"I'm fine with this. I've got a handle on it." Michael did his best to reassure his friends. "I need to know about this deal. What happened? I told you to lay low." The last sentence came out as a scolding accusation.

"I'm sorry, Mike, but that's just so much bull crap" Sam interrupted, setting his friend straight. "You left us behind because you were about to do something none of us wanted you to do an' speaking of us, where's Jesse?"

"Jesse..." Michael sighed and rubbed a hand over his eyes. "We've only got five minutes, then I have to go. Jesse is fine, or he was last time I saw him. I cut him loose along with Pearce. They should be on their way here. Jesse will be looking for Barry, so I dare say Bly will pick him up. That's how he got you, wasn't it?"

"Er, yeah Mike..." Sam answered, knowing he had to explain what they were doing working so closely with a man who had been such a pain in all their butts at one time or another. "Look, the guy seems to be on the up and up this time and, to be honest with you, brother, agreeing to his deal was the only move left on the board. But we really need you on the same page with us on this, buddy."

"I know," Michael replied. "And I am with you. Don't worry about it. I've already agreed to cooperate with Bly." He glanced at his best friend and the edge of the bandage peeking out from under the short sleeve of his Tommy Bahamas shirt. "How's your arm?"

"It's healing up real good, Mikey," Sam beamed, lifting his arm. "Doc's say it'll be as good as new in a couple of weeks, and look, no nerve damage." He demonstrated by wiggling his fingers.

"Ah-huh," Michael nodded, deciding not to mention he could see how painful it had been for his friend to lift his arm. Instead he turned his attention to Fiona, who had slipped her arm around his waist without him noticing. "An' you, Fi? I know how you feel about Bly. How are you holding up?"

"I'm -" She was interrupted by Sam coughing loudly. "I'm fine, Michael," she answered, once Sam had finished clearing his throat. "I admit I wasn't happy at first, but the conniving slimy weasel seems to be playing things straight this time."

Michael nodded and then glanced at the older man. "Sam, could you give us a minute?"

"Sure thing, Mikey," Sam replied with a smirk. "I'll go over there... Looking the other away."

As soon as Sam moved away, Michael took Fiona's hands in his. It hurt more than he cared to admit that in a few minutes, he was going to walk away from her possibly for a very long time. There was just one thing he could do for her now and that was to say goodbye properly.

"I can't do what I have do if I'm worried about you and Sam all the time... I need you both to lay low, I need you to watch out for each other. Sam, his arm - I – he needs to take care of that arm."

"You're talking as if you're not coming back," she sniffed.

He stared down at her, a frown forming as he saw tears welling up in her eyes.

"Fi?" he questioned, drawing her closer.

She surprised him when she buried her head against his chest, letting go of his hands so she could wrap her arms around his waist and pull him even closer. Puzzled by her behavior, Michael gently combed his fingers through her hair, while his free arm draped over her shoulders.

"Fi, what's the matter?"

"Nothin'," she mumbled into the front of his shirt. "It's just -"

She slowly straightened up, so she could look him in the eye. "It's just that you're going out there all alone again and leaving me and Sam on the side lines, instead of us having your back... I'm just so tired- so tired of it, that's all. I just want this over and done with - for all of us to be able to get on with our lives."

He sighed heavily. It was what he wanted, too. Only he didn't think he would ever get it. But maybe he could get his friends a little peace. "I'm working on it, Fi... I promise, I'm working on it."

Just then, there was a sharp rap on the door and Bly called out. "One minute, Westen."

They looked at each other, neither one wanting to let go or look away. Slowly their lips met in a soft light kiss, followed by another as they fell into each others arms and the kisses began to deepen and linger.

From across the room, Sam watched his friends, seeing raw emotion in the way Michael clung to the woman in his arms. The last thing his friend should be doing right now was playing spy against the man who had trained him in the art of deception and intrigue. Chewing on his lower lip, as the couple finally stepped away from each, Sam promised himself he would have to work on Bly. He'd have to make sure the man understood that he would be playing with fire if he pushed Michael Westen too hard.

"Sam," Michael was already carefully storing away his feelings for the people he was about to leave behind. "Bly's gonna be here any second. I want you both to know, I can do this... I can beat Card. He trained me, but he doesn't know the man I became afterwards. He has no idea what I'm capable of."

It was true, or at least he hoped it was. There was several chunks of his career which were sealed away, black bag operations which nobody was ever to know about. And he knew for a fact that after Larry Sizemore died for the first time, his old partner had arranged for many of the CIA mission logs bearing their names to disappear. It was these holes in his career which he was sure Philip Cowan had used to his full advantage to issue the burn notice.

"Mike, don't go there, brother," Sam warned; the former SEAL had first hand knowledge of the old Michael Westen.

Michael half smiled, just a faint curve of his lips. "It's the only place I have left to go if I'm going to take down Card for good."

The door opened just as Michael finished speaking, before Sam could question further about just what he'd meant about taking Card down for good. 

"I've kept my side of the deal, Westen. It's time you for you to keep yours. So, say bye bye to your friends and we'll get started."

"Michael!" Fiona couldn't hide the fear in her voice. She caught hold of his arm. His calm expression, the crooked smile telling her all she needed to know; his mind was made up and there was nothing she could say or do to alter the outcome.

Sighing, she forced a smile onto her face. "Look after yourself... We'll be here waiting for you when you get back."

"Thank you, Fi," he breathed softly.

"Thank me by coming back in one piece." She reached up to kiss his cheek. Her mouth lingering close to his ear. "When ya get back, me and you - we're going to have a long conversation about us."

As soon as she stepped back, Sam stepped forward holding out his hand, taking hold of his best friend's in a firm handshake. "Mike... Take care, brother."

Michael nodded, and then without another word, turned and followed Bly back out towards the garage and the car waiting to take him back into Miami.


	24. A Family Affair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On her way home from Las Vegas, Madeline Westen gets accosted at the airport by an old acquaintance. While far across the Atlantic ocean Jesse Porter & Dani Pearce are desperately trying to find their way back home.

"Let me get this straight, you handed over a protected federal witness to the leader of a cartel who wanted him dead?" Agent Bly asked his tone full of disapproval and anger.

Michael blinked, the tension was already back. His features, which had softened in the presence of his friends, were now devoid of expression as he hid his emotions behind a protective wall.

"And what do you think would have happened to me if I refused to do the job Card gave me? Grow up, Bly. If you want to bring Tom down, you're going to have to get your hands dirty. Or at least I am." Michael folded his arms over his chest, wincing as the movement pulled on the bruised ribs hidden under his utility company uniform.

Jason Bly huffed in annoyance as he realized the truth in the spy's words. Everything he had read about the chief of operations told him it wasn't going to easy to find the necessary evidence to end the career of one of the company's most highly regarded officers in the CIA. And now he had a new name to add to his list of rogues, a living legend in counter intelligence circles, and the most decorated female agent in CIA history, Olivia Riley.

The sheer scale of the task he faced was enough to give him pause. If he was successful, he would be instrumental in exposing two of the CIA's top flight officers as rogue traitors. But he was well aware if he made a single mistake in his efforts to bring both Card and Riley down, they would chew him up and spit him out.

"So, what I need from you is Card's financial records, not his official accounts. By that I mean the numbers for the accounts which hold his money from all his illegal deals." Bly recovered by turning their exchange back to the evidence he needed to complete his assignment.

Michael's eyes widened at this. It would be nearly impossible to gain access to Tom Card's deepest secrets so quickly. He shook his head. "He doesn't trust me, at least not that much. There's no way I can -"

"Well what can you get me? If I'm supposed to get you and your friends the get-out-of-jail-free card you're all after, then you're going to have to get something substantial and soon, Michael. The longer this investigation goes on, the more likely your old buddy Card is going to figure this out. The CSS doesn't hand out complete immunity deals like gift cards for no reason. That is what you're after, isn't it?"

Michael took a step forward, but instantly pulled himself back. Throttling the man who held all their freedom in his hands was not a smart move. So instead he forced his mouth to form a toothy smile.

"I'll see what I can do... Now how else can I help you?"

"I'm glad to see we understand each other," Bly grinned as he glanced at his newest asset before turning his attention back to the file in his hand. Opening the cover, he flipped over a couple of pages, searching for the transcript of the recording from Card's hotel room.

"How about all those places Chief Card mentioned? Yemen? China? Pakistan? What do you know about those missions?... Card is currently in charge of South American operations and prior to that he was a senior training officer at the farm. If he's working outside of his purview and if we can prove he has interfered in on-going missions, it will add weight to the case against him."

"I don't know," Michael admitted. "Before... before Fiona went to prison, I hadn't seen Tom Card in over eight years... Just before he helped to burn me," he concluded bitterly, then added. "But since he was boasting about those places, I might be able to find out more."

Bly nodded thoughtfully. "Good. And now there's something else that's piqued my interest. Station Chief Rayna Kopec... She was your boss in the early nineties, wasn't she? I haven't been able to find out anything about her, the files on her death are sealed and -" He began to flick through more of the pages of the file in his hand, looking for the paragraph he wanted, something about her being the first one to recognize that there was an unsanctioned organization at work inside the CIA.

"Forget her," Michael replied bluntly. "She's got nothing to do with this and that organization, the one that was run by Anson, has already been torn apart. You should be concentrating on Card and Olivia Riley, not chasing after a long dead station chief."

Bly closed the file and regarded the spy thoughtfully. As a counter intelligence agent, he didn't like unsolved mysteries that could come back to bite him later. "Her file is sealed tight and, while I was trying to get through the red tape, I discovered a great deal of the files which covered both her and your time together in Russia and the former Yugoslavia are missing too. I think if we can -"

"Look, let me make this plain for you, Bly. I'm not going to talk about Rayna Kopec. If you want to know about her, you need to talk to Sam Axe. But I wouldn't advise it and those missing reports were probably removed by an intelligence officer called Larry Sizemore, trying hide his tracks when he faked his death back in '97."

For a moment, there was silence between the two men and then Michael made a point of glancing at his watch. "I really need to get back."

"Fine, we'll talk in the car," the CSS agent agreed, opening the back door for Michael to climb in. "After you."

During the drive back to downtown Miami, Bly turned his attention on to Olivia Riley. The woman lived her life in the spotlight. It was going to be far easier to track her movements than the operations chief. "Why do you think a decorated, the most highly decorated, female agent in CIA history would involve herself in the actions of a traitor?"

"I don't know," Michael replied tiredly. "Maybe when you drag her in, you can ask her that yourself."

The car pulled up on a quiet back street and Michael couldn't get out quick enough. He had a lot of things to do and he was already running late. He paused and leaned in through the window. "You should start looking at all the agents who Card worked with closely back at the farm. Riley, Grey and me... we were all trained by him. There might be more."

"The guy was a legend, Westen. Do you have any idea how many men and women he trained?"

"Look at the ones he took a personal interest in. He involved himself a couple of times in my missions, pulling me out of trouble. He might have done the same things with the others. Those are the people you're looking for."

"Okay, I'll look into that – – oh and, Michael, when we have time for a longer chat, I'm going to have some questions for you about those agents who died in Panama."

Mr Westen paused, a frown forming on his features. "Stick to looking into Card, Agent Bly. So far by my count, he is responsible for the deaths of my brother, Anson, Grey, Montero and probably a whole lot more."

"And you Michael? How many deaths have you caused over the years?"

The spy stared blankly at the CSS agent, his eyes cold and dead, and then he stood up straight before walking away.

()()()()

It was a three days after Michael Westen had agreed to work with Jason Bly that the spy's mother, Madeline Westen, had stepped off the aeroplane which had carried her back to Miami from Las Vegas. She had hurried through the terminal towards baggage reclaim. Her hair was cut, styled and her dark roots touched up; her face was powdered, her eyes and lips were made up brightly and even brighter jewellery adorned her ears, neck and wrists. Even her cheery-colored clothing was back in vogue, all new of course, bought while on her vacation to Las Vegas.

She looked around at the other passengers who had been on her flight and a feeling of well being, which she thought she would never feel again, settled over her...... It had been good to get away, but it was even better to be home.

Las Vegas had done her more good than she had ever imagined possible. Never in a million years had she thought to find a bit of peace in the presence of Ruth "amazing" Westen. Although there had been moments admittedly when she had wanted to wrapped her hands around the young woman's neck and squeeze tightly.....

"You can't smoke around Charlie," had been annoying but understandable, though both her and Frank had smoked around her boys and it hadn't done them any harm.

"We don't have the TV on before Charlie's bedtime. It's too stimulating. We like to sit and read." That one had been very inconvenient as Charlie's bedtime had coincided with her favorite soap. Luckily, Ruth possessed a DVR and, once her grandson was safely tucked in, she had been free to watch in peace and quiet.

"I don't give Charlie candy. There's carrot sticks in the fridge or he can have a piece of fruit from the bowl on the table." She'd had to bite her tongue over that particular rule...... What little boy didn't like candy?

But all the petty little rules Ruth lay down were only a mild irritation compared to the joy of being able to spend so much time with her grandson.

And then, of course on the last day of her planned vacation, she had discovered she had won a two week extension to her stay. Though she hadn't realized it at the time when she had booked into the Desert Orchid Hotel, her name had been automatically entered in a prize drawing. As the lucky winner, she had gotten to stay an extra fortnight free of charge.

During those three weeks, she had gotten to see first hand the life Ruth was making for herself and her child. She had been amazed...yes amazed... at how the ditsy dumb blonde she thought her son had married had actually turned into a savvy single mother.

Once clear of her drunken, gambling addicted ex-husband, Ruth Westen had blossomed and, when the young woman had preceded to educate ex-mother-in-law about some of her sons more unsavory habits, it was the wake-up call Madeline was willing to admit she had needed. She had known about Nate's gambling problems and his alcohol addiction, but what she hadn't known about was the cocaine he'd been taking in increasing amounts in an effort to stay awake during marathon poker games.

When Madeline thought back to the mess she had made raising her own children, Nate's car crash of a life and Michael's detachment, it left her in awe of what Ruth was doing with Charlie. And it gave her the strength to think about making changes.

She still missed Nate terribly, he had after all been her baby boy, and she still held her eldest son partially responsible for her youngest's unnecessary death. But Michael hadn't fired the shot and he hadn't known an assassin was going to be lying in wait, waiting for an opportunity to murder Anson Fullerton.

Though it still felt like her heart had been torn out ,she was beginning to feel guilty about the way she had mistreated Michael, especially when she remembered his expression as she had ripped into him the last time he had visited, laying all her own guilt and grief on his shoulders.

By the time Madeline had managed to collect her suitcases and make her way to the exit, she was already making plans. She would find Michael and apologize and, if possible, try to rebuild a relationship with him. It wouldn't be the one they'd had before; her eyes had been opened to who he really was and what he had been doing during all the years he had been away. But maybe there was hope for them to have a new type of relationship.

She reached the doors and stepped out into the heat and humidity of Miami and looked at the long line of people waiting for taxis.

"Mrs Westen?"

She turned at hearing her name being called and stared at the man she hadn't seen for years. A man who had broken into her house and sliced open her furniture and destroyed her ornaments.

"Ma'am I don't know if you remember me. My name is Jason Bly. I'm with the CSS and you have to come with me right now."

"Oh, I remember you..." Madeline's blood ran cold and her handbag came up and round, hitting the man hard upside the head. "And I'm not going anywhere with you!" she yelled and turned away.

"Ma'am, don't make this any harder than it has to be," Bly called out to her while holding his hand to his abraided ear and wincing. Two men she hadn't realized were behind her grabbed hold of arms and her luggage and led her towards a waiting vehicle.

()()()

Sam Axe had reached the end of his rope. It was hard to believe. But trapped in what was fast becoming a free fire zone between the two women he thought of as family - well, there weren't enough mojitos in the whole of Miami to induce him to keep acting as peace-keeper.

"Bly, I'm tellin' ya, if you don't let us outta this house, I'm not gonna be held responsible for what happens next, buddy." He jumped on the CSS agent as soon as the tall man walked into the safe-house or, as the former SEAL was now calling it, the Palm Island Asylum.

"What's the problem, Mr. Axe?" Jason asked blandly as he took a seat at the kitchen table and gestured for the older man to take the stool next to the counter top.

"What's the problem!? You're kiddin' me, right?" Sam was pretty sure the senior agent in charge had been filled in on all the gory details of his last few days of hell. The damn coward had brought Michael's mother into the house and without a word of explanation had run off, leaving him the job of explaining to Madeline Westen that for the foreseeable future, she was in the protective custody of the Counter Surveillance Services.

"Sam! Fiona! What is going on? Did you know about this? That man just grabbed me at the airport and bundled me into a car like some sort of common criminal... Does this have something to do with Michael? …...Where is he? …...What's he done this time?"

She had continued with her litany of complaints and her groundless accusations while pacing around the room. "I knew I should have stayed in Las Vegas, Ruth said Miami was too dangerous for a woman living alone."

"Maddy, hey, Maddy! Take a seat and we'll explain." He had finally managed to get a word in edgeways and, with a little bit of maneuvring, got her to sit down on the couch.

"I just want to know what's going on, that's all," she'd whined as her hand had reached into her purse to retrieve her cigarettes. "You know I was in Vegas for three whole weeks and I didn't have to go into hiding or get get grabbed off the street once during the whole-"

"Madeline! You can't smoke in here." Fiona finally joined the conversation, her clipped, frankly hostile, tone causing the older woman to pause with cigarette and lighter in her hands.

"I'm expected to stay here - trapped in this house and you're telling me I can't smoke?... I don't think so, honey." And then in a spirit of defiance she had lit up and blown a cloud of smoke across the room. 

"I've just put up with three weeks of being told I couldn't smoke indoors. But at least Ruthie had good reason, though I kept -" Her words had come to a stop when Fiona had gotten to her feet and snatched her cigarette out of her hand, crushing it into little pieces before her eyes and then dropping the fragments onto the floor, grinding out the burning ash with the toe of her shoe.

"This whole house is a no smoking zone. If you have to have one of those things, you'll have to go into the garage," The Irishwoman had informed her coldly and then stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

"Well, what's got into her?" Madeline had asked, wide eyed and obviously oblivious to why the younger woman was upset. "Has Michael -?"

"Mikey hasn't done anything, Maddy... Fi's just -" Unable to come up with a plausible lie in the face of her piercing gaze, he had just shrugged his shoulders and then looked heavenward as Mama Westen had lit up a fresh cigarette and began to fill him in with all the little details of her three week stay in Las Vegas.

And that had only been the start of the hostilities. Sam wasn't sure if it was pregnancy hormones which were driving Fiona's animosity towards the older woman, or if it was more to do with Madeline's previous treatment of her son that had the Irishwoman's panties up in a bunch, though he thought it was probably a little bit of both.

Before they had left for Panama, Madeline's spite filled words to her oldest son had riled up both of them. There had been at least a couple of occasions when Michael had returned to the loft after visiting with his mother, looking particularly broken and withdrawn, that Fiona had needed restraining to stop her going to give the woman a piece of her mind. But now, with everything that had happened, it was plain that Fiona was putting a lot of the blame for Michael's recent actions firmly at Maddy's door too.

"I had heard that those two ladies have been very vocal," the agent smirked. "Michael Westen's women are- how shall I put this? Rather opinionated, aren't they?"

"Opinionated?" Sam raised an eyebrow. He had expected more of a reaction to recent events than a smirk and a few smart comments. "Look, Bly..." he tried again. "We've answered all your questions three times over. Mike must have gained Card's trust or this investigation woulda been pulled already. There's no reason to keep us all cooped up like this, unless of course you plan on putting in a bulk order for new windows."

It had been less than three hours ago that Fiona Glenanne had, in effect, gone nuclear.

"I swear to God, Sam, if she mentions that damn woman to me one more time..." Fiona had ground out as she filled a glass with freshly squeezed orange juice.

Michael's mom had two main topics of conversation: How well Ruth was doing as a single mother and what a wonderful little boy her grandson Charlie was, so much like Nate was at that age. 

And when she wasn't singing her ex-daughter-in-law's praises or informing them of all Charlie's accomplishments, her only other thoughts focused on why Michael hadn't been bothered to visit her and explain why she couldn't go home.

"And she's still smoking in tha house. I can smell it, Sam... I'm doin' my best here, but this might be my only-." She'd bit back her words, unsure who might be listening. "I don't want anything to go wrong, Sam... This is too important."

The conversation had ended as Madeline had come bustling into the kitchen with a cigarette dangling from between her lips. "I asked that agent, oh whatever his name was, the one bringing in the groceries, to get me some aubergines. Ruthie had this wonderful recipe for aubergine parmigiana."

Sam remembered how he had winced when Fiona had banged a heavy cut glass ashtray down beside where Madeline had stood, her tiny figure almost vibrating with suppressed anger.

"Thank you," Maddy had blithely replied, dropping ash on the floor as she continued look through the refrigerator. "Say, Fiona, why don't we get together later and I'll show you how to make it... Why, while I was in Vegas, did I tell you we never ate take out. Ruth believes in all natural ingredients. I just wish the girl would eat a -"

"Madeline, the smoking, I - Elsa doesn't want anybody smoking in here."

"Oh, Fiona, what Elsa doesn't know -"

Sam could only watch as the cigarette was torn out of Maddy's hand and thrown into the sink. Then in a continuation, the furious Irishwoman picked up the ashtray and sent it hurling through the kitchen window.

"How many fecking times d'ya have ta be told, Madeline?!" Without waiting for a reply, Fiona had stormed out of the room, pushing by the agents who were rushing forward with their guns drawn.

"I mean it, fella. Fiona is going stir crazy. She just got outta prison for god's sakes. She was locked up in Allarod for months. You don't think this isn't just bringing back bad memories of that place. Why are you so dead set on keeping us here?"

"As witnesses in a high profile investigation, you need to be safe -"

"Ah-ah Bly..." Sam wagged his finger at the agent. "That ain't gonna fly with me. If Mike's cover is solid, then Card has no reason to hurt any of us. So we should be free to go. Unless of course there's something you're not telling us... Like this is just you wantin' to keep Mikey under your thumb."

Sam stared hard at the other man, letting him know he wasn't buying any more of his excuses. "Look, buddy, let's be clear about this. Mike isn't going to be happy if Fi kills his mom and Elsa is gonna be pissed if her new purchase gets blown to pieces as part of the collateral damage, cuz I'm telling ya now, Tinkerbell is just getting warmed up."

The CSS Agent leaned back in his chair and smiled thoughtfully. It was true, as long as Tom Card trusted Westen, there was no need to keep his friends locked away in protective custody. They had all answered every question he had posed and, to be honest, as intelligence assets he had got all the information he could out of them.

But he also needed to make sure that they were safe and out of the way. Leaning forward with his elbows on the table, Bly pressed his fingertips together and stared at the older man facing him.

"So, if I let you all go, where exactly would you go?" he inquired.

"Maddy would go back home, it's all she wants to do anyway besides talk to Mike. Any chance you could fix that up?"

"Away from here, it would be up to him. But regarding Mrs. Westen, are you sure she can be trusted to keep quiet about the investigation?"

"That is one lady you don't have to worry about, Bly," Sam replied with enthusiasm. "There's no way she'd spill the beans. You can trust her."

"So why, if the lady is so trustworthy, hasn't Ms. Glenanne told her she's pregnant?" Bly smiled, baring his teeth as he saw the shock on Axe's face.

"Pregnant?" was all the older man managed to get out.

"I'm a father, Axe and I recognized the signs. During my past encounters with the lady in question, I've gotten to see a little more than I wanted to of Ms. Glenanne - so I know she's been putting on weight. She's suddenly not drinking in a situation I'd say certainly calls for a shot or two and, even before she was redecorating your girlfriend's house with ash trays, she's had more than a few temper tantrums."

Bly hadn't been amused by what had happened with this agents, one of whom who had gotten in Fiona's face, earning him a broken nose, and another one had made the mistake of touching her from behind and the man's ribs had suffered the consequences. Both agents had been rotated out of the detail for more than health reasons.

Sam could see there was no point in denying it. "That last part is nothing to do with the pregnancy. What are you going to do now?"

"Mr. Axe, what do you take me for?" Bly asked, as if he was shocked at what Sam was suggesting. "You think I would do something to harm an unborn child?"

The ex-SEAL sat back in his chair, letting out a deep breath as he tried to work out the CSS agent's angle. He knew full well that if he had to, Bly would use the knowledge to his advantage. He was, above everything else, a company man.

"So say I believe that you're a good guy and that you have no intention of using Fi and the kid as leverage, who else knows?" Sam also knew that direct conflict wasn't the answer. They needed to get out of the house and the only way that was going to happen was if Bly believed he had control.

"I haven't mentioned Ms. Glenanne's condition in any of my reports... However, if it should become an issue..." He left the rest of the sentence hanging as a threat of sorts.

"It won't if you just let us move out of this house. Maddy will go home. You can put a couple of guys on guard duty around her house. I'll take Fiona over to the Chadwick and I'll talk to her into staying there. You've already got guys working in Elsa's security team, so you'll still be able to keep an eye on us."

Bly inclined his head and nodded. It was a win-win situation for him, giving Westen's team a bit of freedom would gain their trust and free up his men for other duties.

"Okay, I'll let you move out. But I want to make it very clear: if one word reaches Card about what is happening here, it will end the investigation and your chances of staying out of jail. Am I clear?"

"As clear as day, Agent Bly," Sam replied, smiling happily. "We've got a lot more riding on this than you do, buddy. Everyone needs this to go right."

Especially Fiona, he thought, though underneath it all, he was wondering what her reaction was going to be when she learned Jason Bly had guessed her secret.

()()()()()()()()

Out of India: A (former) spy's guide.

Three weeks ago, an American sale executive called Doug Travers and his PA by the name of Helen O'Shea had flown out of Mumbai's Chatrapati Shivaji International Airport on a business trip to the United Arab Emirates. From the bustling overcrowded conditions inside the busy Dubai International Airport terminal, they had taken a taxi into the city and wasted no time in searching out the photographic studio of Kamal Aziz.

As soon as the portly balding Emirate had heard the name Michael Westen, he had paled and gulped, but then swiftly pulled down the shutters and put out the "closed" sign, before turning to his unwelcome customers and raising the handgun he'd had hidden on his person.

"Michael Westen... he is here?" he had asked in heavily accented English.

"No... But you refuse to help us and I'm sure he would be on his way over here pretty damn quick," Mr. Travers had smiled in reply.

"Fine, I do this... But you make sure he knows I never want to see him or hear his name again, yes?"

"Agreed."

"Come with me." 

The gun had gone back into the heavily set man's waistband and he had led them into the back room where he did all his specially commissioned work. Once he had finished, he'd handed over four passports with well worn covers.

"I have no time to make new papers. No biometrics... These passports are still valid, but old design. It is the best I can do on short notice." 

An hour after Ms. O'Shea and Mr. Travers had entered the Aziz studios, Connie and Mark Daniels, an Australian couple on a touring holiday, had walked away from the same building. After stopping off at a store where Mrs. Daniels had bought a dark blue headscarf and large framed dark sunglasses and Mr. Daniels had purchased a Panama hat to protect his shaven head from the sun, they had taken a taxi to Dubai's only airport.

Once there, they had hurried over to the booking desks and had waited as patiently as they could to reach the front of the line to buy tickets for the first available flight to Alexandria on the Egyptian coast.

And while the Daniels had been waiting in line, Kamal Aziz had been smashing up his computer hard drives and preparing to set light to the business he had run for over twenty years, all the while cursing the day he first met a smiling young American spy named Michael Westen.

Getting what rest they could during their four and a half hour flight to their next destination, the Daniels had disembarked at Borg Al Arab airport in Egypt and immediately made their way to the coastal city of Alexandria.

They both knew that the three or four hour window their friend had bought them back in India was closing fast and they needed to keep on the move if they were to stay ahead of the men Tom Card had undoubtedly sent to hunt them down.

But their cover had given him plenty of excuses to hold her hand, wrap his arm around her shoulders and pepper the occasional light kiss on her lips. She returned the gestures with more enthusiasm than would be typical for a cover ID despite, or perhaps because of, the danger they were both in.

Discarding the Australian passports in the names of Daniels, they had made their way over to one of the ferry companies lining the harbor and then Senor y Senora Esteban Cruz had shown their nine year old Spanish passports and had been permitted to make the night crossing from Alexandria to Limassol in Cyprus.

Once in Cyprus they had left Limassol and travelled to the smaller port of Paphos from where they joined a tourist pleasure cruise over to the Greek Island of Rhodes from where they had spent several days island hopping on day ferries until they could reach the Italian coast and several nights getting to know each other better.

Travelling throughout the European Union on passports marking them as Spanish citizens had been easy and the checks they faced at each border crossing had been very basic, but their money was running out. Picking pockets, shoplifting and stealing cars had kept them going. However, they had both known the hardest part of the trip was going to be getting back into the US and they had taken comfort in each other's company during their adrenaline filled journey from danger in India towards safety.

In the end, after three more weeks of near constant traveling, from Italy into France and then across the Channel to the UK and finally over to Ireland, they decided they had no choice but to take a chance. They couldn't continue using the Spanish passports indefinitely as they were sure to be discovered sooner or later.

Besides which, they had run out of countries to cross; all that remained was the wide expanse of the Atlantic ocean and the decision of whether to find a boat or risk a flight.

"I have an idea," Jesse Porter spoke softly as they stood looking out over the busy port of the city of Dublin.

"I hope it doesn't involve us swimming over to one of those cruise ships," Dani Pearce replied, biting down on her lower lip as she continued watch a large ship being slowly towed into the harbor.

"Nope, but I can't guarantee us a warm welcome either." He reached out and took hold of her hand and slowly turned back towards the city center.

The next day, early in the morning, Jesse Porter and Dani Pearce took a bus out of the city to a pleasant little village on the borders between town and country. From the village center, they strolled past the post office, the pub and a rather grand looking Gothic church, eventually coming to a large house set back from the country lane.

After a long look, they walked hand in hand along a wide gravel path.

"I'm pretty sure this is the right address," he told the dark haired woman at his side.

He tried to drag up every memory of his long conversations, sitting in the loft and keeping Fiona company while Mike was off doing his spy thing for the CIA. He'd told her all about losing his mom, about being handed around from one foster family to another and she had told him about her large, crazy family which was spread out over both sides of the border between the North and the South of Ireland.

As they stepped up the four shallow stone steps to the front door, the heavy old oak door swung open to reveal a tiny dark haired woman with sharp blue green eyes.

"Mrs Glenanne?" Jesse asked nervously. He had spotted the large revolver the little old woman held in her claw like hand close up to her body. "My name is Jesse Porter. I'm a friend of your daughter's...of Fiona's... and we need your help."


	25. Standing on the Precipice

"Sam, I'm giving you one warning." Fiona's blue-green eyes narrowed as she glared over to where the older man stood with his hands on his hips on the other side of the large airy living room.

"All I'm saying, Fi, is you heard him. Mike said for us to lay low. You go out looking for him, you could -" He ducked as one of the large plump cushions which decorated Elsa's L-shaped couch flew at his head.

"He's been out there on his own for weeks!" she hissed, slipping her shoes on and getting to her feet. "He needs us, Sam. We should at least make sure he's okay. What's the harm in doing a bit of surveillance of our own?"

"Now, you know the answer to that. If Card sees us -"

"If Card sees us, I'll shoot him and that will be an end to it," Fiona quipped as she stalked determinedly across the marble floor of the penthouse towards the door that the former SEAL was preparing to defend with his life.

It had been a whole seven days since Jason Bly had released them from the Palm Island safe house, sending Madeline back to her own home with a small discrete security detail to watch over her from a distance, while they had been delivered to the Chadwick Hotel and ordered to not to leave Elsa Dearbon's penthouse suite.

In those seven days Fiona had seen Elsa's doctor friend three times, mainly because Dr. Adam Carrick was concerned for the expectant lady's worryingly high blood pressure. He had ordered rest, a healthy diet and strictly nothing that would get her heart racing or raise her stress levels.

Unfortunately, all rest and relaxation had done was allow the Irishwoman's concern for her missing boyfriend to grow and her frustration about being cooped up to come to the boil.

"Michael is out thar wit' only thot bastid Bly as back up." She was nearly to the door when Sam stuck out his hand, stopping her in her tracks.

"Take yar hand outta me face or lose it," she snarled. Fiona's Irish brogue was a sure sign of her level of anger.

"Nope." Sam braced himself, settling his feet determinedly into the floor as he prepared himself for what he expected to be a violent onslaught. "Ah-ah missy... You're not thinking clearly. You wanna risk this deal, just to catch a glimpse of Mike? Cuz I tell ya that's all it would be. As soon as Bly's guys spotted you, we'd all be on our way to jail or maybe it would be Card's guys."

"Damn ya, Sam... Move – I – oh!" All of a sudden her vision tunneled and her mouth went dry. She took a step and immediately the floor was coming up fast.

"Fi! Fiona!" Sam watched as the color drain from his friend's face and he just managed to get a hand to her arm as she began to crumple to the floor. "Dammit, Fi," he groaned and then quickly lifted her in his arms and carried her to the couch.

After checking her pulse and making sure she was still breathing, he ran to the intercom. "Getta doctor up here!" he yelled into the device. "And get Elsa. Now!"

By the time Dr. Carrick arrived, Elsa had managed to coax a groggy and frightened Fiona into her bedroom. After he had completed a thorough examination, he gave his opinion.

"Bed rest, Ms. Glenanne," was the strict order. "If you want to keep your baby, you stay lying down and look after your own health. No stress, no caffeine, no alcohol."

To Sam's surprise, she just nodded her agreement and laid back against the soft pillows supporting her neck and head. He knew how determined she was not to lose her baby, but this was the first time it really sank in. He watched silently from beside the door as Elsa took a seat next to bed while Fiona drifted off to sleep.

Then he escorted the doctor to the elevator and, after making sure neither of the ladies would hear what he was doing, he made a call.

"How long is this gonna take Bly?" he had asked as soon as the CSS agent answered his phone.

"You know I can't discuss an active operation with a -."

"I'm not in the mood for joking Bly, Fi -" He swallowed down his worries. "I need to know an end is in sight."

He heard heavy breathing on the other end of the phone and then. "I have no new intelligence. Michael is working -"

Sam was well aware when he was being jerked around and his hand tightened on the phone. "Can you at least let Mike know we need to speak to him?"

"I don't -"

"Buddy, I'm not askin', I'm tellin'. You get word to Mikey that we need to speak to him or I'm gonna go find himself myself." Sam slammed the phone down angrily and then turned his gaze back to the bedroom. It was clear to him that the only thing that would stop Fiona from worrying was Michael at her side.

Jason Bly put the phone down and turned back to the stack of files on his desk. There was no way he was going to tell Michael Westen his friends wanted to see him. From his own experience he had a good idea that once the spy found out he was going to be a father, it would alter everything. In the long run it was better for everyone if Michael was discouraged from contacting his friends until after the mission was complete.

With that in mind, the CSS agent picked up his phone again. He needed to contact the men on surveillance at the hotel to tell them to tighten up security and to make sure neither Axe or Glenanne left the penthouse.

()()()()

The face of Aiden Malloy stared back at him, the old man's blue eyes filled with pain and fierce determination. Before he can stop him, the elderly former terrorist turns and he sees the old tin can in the aged man's gnarled hand; Aiden has ahold of one of Fiona's home-made grenades. He calls out, but his voice is lost in the roar of gunfire. He knows what is about to happen and tries to shield Sam from...

The heat of the blast wave nearly knocks him off his feet, shrapnel and exploding cartridges are sent out in all directions when the CIA tactical support vehicle is blown skyward and, as his ears ring, the only sound getting through is the piercing shrieks of the teenager, Sorcha Malloy, screaming for her granddad...

Michael tosses and turns, the thin sheet covering his body falling away to reveal a sweat covered torso and a lower body dressed in pajama pants. His face contorts and a whimpering moan escapes from between clenched teeth and then, with a jolt, he sits upright.

Aiden Malloy's face is gone, replaced by that of his brother, staring up at him with brown eyes full of pain and fear. 

"I'm scared," he whispers, and then he is gone too.

Taking deep shuddering breaths, he looks around, getting his bearings, remembering where he is. He is back home, in the loft, only it isn't a home any more because she isn't with him. With a trembling hand, Michael wipes away the moisture from his eyes and, deep inside his head, he hears a familiar coldly disapproving voice...  
Is this that what you do, Michael? you destroy good people?

Gulping down deep breaths, the normally cool and calm spy tries to steady his nerves and, without conscious thought, he reaches out for the glass filled with an amber liquid sitting on the bedside table. Taking a long drink from the glass, the cheap alcohol burns the back of his throat as he greedily swallows it down. When he sets the glass back onto the table, it is only half full. It's the same every night and it has been for the last month. It doesn't matter what he does, he can't stop the nightmares which fill his head every time he sleeps.....  
Your life effects us all. It effects Fiona. It effects Sam. It effects me.

Unwilling to lay back down and face his demons again, he kicks the covers off his feet and heads for the bathroom. Stripping off his pajama pants, Michael climbs under the shower and turns it on full blast, subjecting himself to the ice cold water, which cascades down before the hot water finally kicks in.

He stays there until the water runs cold again before reluctantly stepping out and forcing himself to endure another day. Back standing beside his bed, he glances at the clock and sees it's only 5 AM. There was no way on earth he's going to go back to sleep, not now. Yet he really has nothing else to do.

So, with a heavy heart he does what he has been doing ever since Tom Card had ordered him to stay in the loft and rest up while waiting for further instructions: he exercises. Getting dressed in shorts and an old t shirt, he heads outside and goes for a run.

In the pre-dawn light, the air feels fresh and cool against his skin and, as his feet pound along the pavement, he tries to concentrate on his self imposed mission.

He will keep his friends out of prison and it doesn't matter to him what it takes to achieve his aim. He has no expectations of saving himself, just them. He owes them all so much, it is the very least he can do... There have been too many deaths. 

Nate lying on the ground, his eyes wide his torso covered in blood. He had seen wounds like that before and he knew there was no hope. "You'll be fine." He had lied....... He began to run faster, and faster.

"I was thinking that this in a small way might just begin to start making up for what happened to Nate," were some of the last words he had spoken to his mother. But, for some reason, his halting speech had just enraged her all the more. She had shied away from his touch and turned her back on him as if he was no longer there.

I don't want YOUR APOLOGY! Every mistake Nate ever made was because he wanted to be like you. He had no business being out there! NONE! The accusing hate-filled voice of the one person who should love him unconditionally spurred him on until he was sprinting at full speed in an effort to outrun the demon on his shoulder.

You're working with the man who killed your brother.

Because he had to, because it was the only way to keep his friends out of prison. This was his penance, his deep cover mission, he was going to expose Tom Card as a traitor, ensuring that whatever evidence the operations chief held against his friends would be discredited and then, once he was sure they wouldn't face prosecution, he was going to make sure the man who he had once trusted more than any other paid in full for his crimes.

He had played the scenario out in his mind so many times, how the gun would feel in his hand, the feel of the trigger as his finger flexed, the sound the casing would make as it was expelled and how the body of his one-time time friend and mentor would fall and how afterwards he would disappear, if he didn't get cut down by some branch of law enforcement or by an agent of the myriad of intelligence agencies who would be hunting him down.

But for now his aim was to become Card's friend, convince the operations chief that he could be trusted, that he was so broken and desperate that he was willing to work with the man who had orchestrated his brother's death.

"How do you see this ending, Michael, really?" Tom Card's voice sounded in his head, confident that the word of a high ranking Operations Chief would far outweigh that of a disgraced rogue agent. "Work with me and I'll keep your friends out of jail. What do you say?"

But winning the trust of a man like Tom Card was not going to be easy, the man was a decorated officer in the CIA, he had been instrumental in the training of some of the best agents to come out of Langley. He couldn't be fooled with a smile and a smooth lie. The only way to gain his trust was for Michael to become the monster they already thought he was.

He could only keep up running at full speed for so long, gasping for breath he slowed to a jog, but continued to push onwards. It was the only way he could get any rest. If he exhausted his body and numbed his mind, the nightmares didn't come quite so often and, if he was fortunate, the dark haired covert operative would get a few hours of decent sleep.

He was playing his role as hard as he could. Three weeks ago, Bly had released his friends from protective custody and, though the urge to go to see them was strong, Mr Westen had forced himself to stay away. As far as everybody was concerned, he had to appear to be a man without friends. If he showed any sign of attachment to the people he cared about, it would all be over, not only for him but for them too.

Of course that didn't mean he hadn't asked Bly to keep him informed on what was happening. He knew Sam and Fiona were staying at the Chadwick hotel and his mom had gone back home. But even when talking with the CSS agent, he did his best to keep his interest to a minimum.

By the time Michael got back to the loft, the sun had risen above the horizon and the sky had lost the dull grey of the dawn and was a clear blue with barely the wisp of a cloud.

Standing at the bottom of the rickety metal steps, he stretched out his hamstrings before trudging slowly up the stairs. When he reached the door to the loft he paused, noticing it was unlocked and open a crack. Reaching into the back of the waistband of his shorts, the ex-spy drew his gun and went through the door, ready to shoot whoever was inside.

"Nice place you have here, Westen." Olivia Riley was standing in the middle of his home, inches away from his unmade bed.

"What are you doing here?" he asked coldly.

While making his gun safe before returning it to his waistband, he walked past her on his way to the kitchen area to get a bottle of water from the fridge.

Card's right hand woman looked the same as the last time he had seen her. Smartly turned out in a black blazer over the top of a crisp white shirt and plain black slacks, her hair was slicked back into a high pony tail which hung down between her shoulder blades and in her left hand she held a manila folder.

Taking off her sunglasses and, with a look of distaste plain on her face, she followed him over to the bench which served as a kitchen counter top. Wrinkling her nose at the smell of stale spirits, Riley used two fingers to move an empty whisky bottle out of her way and then, with a slap of her hand, she placed the file down before him.

"Chief Card wants you to take a look at this," she announced stiffly, her eyes raking over him as she took in his appearance.

Leaning back against the sink, he took a long drink from the bottle of water as he returned her gaze. Mr Westen could see her disapproval and he didn't let it bother him. She was a living legend in counter intelligence circles, a hero. Yet here she was acting as a cut out, a willing accomplice to a murderous traitor. He had plans for ending her career too, though not quite as permanently as the end he had in store for her boss.

Once he had drunk his fill, Michael turned his attention to the file, flicking open the cover he began to skim over the first page as Riley gave him the highlights.

"Your target is Jabbar Hamady," the dark skinned woman announced, after a pause to light a cigarette.

"A Syrian intelligence officer?" Michael queried.

"An ex-Syrian intelligence officer...Mr Hamady was based in their embassy in Yemen, but he fled his post a year ago. About the same time the Yemeni government kicked the Syrian ambassador out of the country, Hamady's wife ran out on him. Since then, he has been supplementing his income by trading in automatic weapons while he spends his free time and large sums of money hunting down the now ex-Mrs Hamady." Riley paused to suck down a lungful of nicotine and then continued. "Certain people, associates of ours, are interested in talking with Mr. Hamady about the timing of what they are calling his defection to the west. Fortunately for us, nobody has been able to find him, until now... Hamady is in Miami hunting down this man."

She leaned forward and turned the page for him and then stabbed a finger down on the chubby visage of the man in the photograph attached to the page, causing Michael to waft a hand in front of his face as smoke drifted into his eyes and nose.

"Calvin Schmidt is a smuggler, supposedly one of the best operating along the eastern seaboard. He is the one who got the ex-Mrs Hamady out of Yemen to an undisclosed location. At the moment, Schmidt is in hiding too because our Syrian friend is tearing his businesses to pieces trying to hunt him down... We'd like you to find Schmidt so we can use him to flush Hamady out into the open."

"And do we know where to find this smuggler?" he asked looking up to smile at her.

"Not exactly, but we do have the location of one of his known associates. A man called Jack Dixon." She smiled, her eyes hard. "You used this Dixon once before to help you track down the murderer of your old agency contact... So we are confident you'll be able to talk him into giving up his friend..."

When he frowned, she misread his expression. He wasn't angry about using Dixon; he was remembering how his CIA contact, Max, had been murdered.

"Just make it happen, Westen... Give me a call when you have Hamady's location and we'll take him down. We just need a conversation with him before turning him over to either his government or our own." She walked to the door before turning and looking him over once again. "And get cleaned up." Then she was gone.

Once on his own, Michael stared at each page, reading through the details they had managed to find on both Hamady and Schmidt. He narrowed his eyes, Hamady had been a senior intelligence officer working in Yemen, one of the countries mentioned by Card. He needed to know what answers Card wanted off the Syrian.

Crossing the loft to where he had made a hidden compartment under the work bench which Fiona had set up for all their little projects, Michael retrieved the burner phone Bly had given him to keep in contact. In the last month, there hadn't been much call for its use, as Card had pretty much left him on the sidelines. Now though, he photographed the details on Hamady and sent them off with a few words about the man being a person of interest to Card.

With that done and the phone safely back in its hiding place, Michael took a yogurt cup from the fridge and a spoon from the sink and settled down in his favorite green leather chair to read all about Calvin Schmidt. As he sat and read, a seed of an idea began to take root and, as it began to grow, a smile broke out on his face, chasing away the tension that he'd been wearing like a cloak for so long.

Tom Card had survived when the CIA cleaned house after the Anson Fullerton affair because he had been acting in a small way. But now that, as he had put it, he was the only one left, the man was getting more brazen and looking to expand.

Sending a F-18 on a bombing run over a foreign country, using a black ops team to run them to ground in Panama and making deals with cartels were not the actions of somebody trying to stay under the radar. He wondered briefly if he had Bly look into the whereabouts of Greyson Miller, the arms dealer Tom had demanded Fiona give up to gain her freedom, it would turn out that he had been freed by the operations chief.

Calvin Schmidt allegedly had a lot of contacts, all of them very illegal. Gun runners, drug smugglers, arms dealers, human traffickers, forgers, not to mention most of his customers were the royalty of the criminal underworld, all who were always after exotic weaponry or tech. Michael leaned back in his chair. If he played this right, if he could convince Card that he could use an asset like Schmidt, he just might be able to attach his former mentor's name to some very illegal activities.

Humming a tune, the dark haired spy closed the file and went to his closet pulling out his grey suit and a white shirt with thin pale blue stripes. Leaving the clothes hanging off his closet door, he went to take another shower, this time though he would shave too. It was time to put his best foot forward.

()()

Showered, shaven, dressed in a grey suit and with his aviator sunglasses in place, Michael Westen drove across Miami to North Miami Beach. Leaving his sleek and shiny black Charger parked on the street, he walked the short distance to Beyl Technologies employee parking lot and took up a position under the shelter of one of the many palm trees which broke up the large expanse of concrete.

He didn't have long to wait for his target, as somebody on Olivia Riley's team had obviously done their research and just like it was written in the report on Dixon's daily activities, the hacker arrived at work at precisely a quarter to nine. Keeping his eye on the computer genius's bright red sports car, Michael moved swiftly to intercept the vehicle.

By the time Jackson Dixon was slamming the door shut on his pride and joy, Michael had glided silently up behind him.

"Dixon. My name is Michael Westen. I'm a friend of -" he announced loudly.

"AH! Oh Jeez, man!" Dixon jumped and, as he realized who he was facing, he paled. "I have nothing to say to you."

Dropping his head he tried to push past the sharply dressed spy only to find his way blocked when Michael refused to budge.

"Oh, don't be like that, Dixon." The dark haired man widened his smile and moved into the other's personal space, forcing Dixon to take a step back. "I only want a tiny piece of information, that's all. All I want is the location of an old associate of yours – Calvin Schmidt?"

"Schmidt? No – no! It's impossible." He shook his head. "Look, I'd like to help you, but -"

"Beyl Technologies, Dixon... I'm surprised they took you on. I mean a man with your record, how long did you spend in prison for hacking the computers of companies very much like this one? Not to mention your military record, Sam said a dishonorable discharge. How did you manage to hide that? Maybe I should go tell them the man they employed to monitor their hard drives is a HACKER."

Dixon's eyes went wide and he looked about worriedly. "Hey! Hey! There's no need for unpleasantness." He knew exactly who Michael Westen was and knew he had no choice but to give up his friend. "I'll give you an address... But you should know, he's probably going to shoot you on sight. He has trouble of his own right now."

"I'll take my chances."

A minute later, Michael walked away with a piece of paper in his hand and a smile on his face. Glancing at his watch, he saw it was only just after nine AM. With a bit of luck, he was going to have the first part of his plan wrapped up by lunchtime.

()()

Standing at the edge of the road, looking down on Calvin Schmidt's secret lair through a set of binoculars Michael had to admit the little weasel he was chasing down had a good set up. He could see top of the line surveillance cameras monitoring the perimeter of the single story house and heavy looking steel shutters covering all the windows. All in all, if he had been looking for a hideaway, he might have considered this place a good choice.

Tossing the binoculars onto the Charger's passenger seat, Michael turned back to regard the property a second time. Unable to sneak up and take 'Miami's No.1 smuggler' by surprise was a problem, but not an unsolvable one. Going to the trunk of his vehicle, he rummaged through his bag of supplies and then set off walking confidently along the driveway. Half way along the winding path, he stopped to smile and wave at one of the cameras, knowing that his approach was being monitored closely from inside.

Reaching the door, he knocked loudly and then called out.

"Calvin Schmidt, my name is Michael Westen, I'm here to help you with your problem..." He waited and, when he got no reply, he added, "I really don't want to hurt you Calvin, but if you don't open the door and let me in, I'm gonna make a phone call to Jabbar Hamady and tell him where to find you."

Michael waited and, after a minute had past, he began to lose his patience. He had one last card to play. He'd looked at the locks on the door and knew he couldn't easily pick them, at least not without risking getting shot through the door, but he had other ways to make an entrance.

"Fine, you want to play it that way Calvin." He moved back and then held up a hand in front of one of the cameras, showing a piece of C4 wired to a detonator. "I suggest -"

The door swung open.

Michael didn't move straight to the open door. Instead he stepped to the side as he suspected that the smuggler was waiting on the other side with a shotgun.

"I'm here to make a deal, Calvin... I'd really like to help you with your problem."

"Hamady has a whole army at his back. What could you do? Just get outta here and tell that slack jawed, turncoat douche bag Dixon that he's off my Christmas card list."

"I take it he called you? Told you I was coming?"

"No, the useless piece of slime is the only one who knows about this place... Now, go away. I don't need your help. I'm leaving the country tonight."

Michael sighed. He was trying his best to remain calm and, if it wasn't for the fact he needed the smuggler for his own purposes, he would have already started calling every Syrian in the phone book knowing that the word would eventually get back to Hamady.

"Believe me Calvin, you're not going anywhere. Think about it. I found you in less than two hours. Do you think you can last until tonight all by yourself?"

After another long silence, the small pudgy figure of the smuggler came hesitantly into view. "Fine, come on in... But keep your hands where I can see them."

The inside of the property was a mess; every available surface covered with a dirty plate, bowl or glass. "You, on your own, are going to kill Jabbar Hamady.. I don't think so." The short man snorted in disbelief and crossed his arms over his chest, glaring at his unwelcome guest.

"If that's what you think, what do you have to lose by hearing me out? The worse that happens is you tell me where to find Hamady and I get killed."

"Okay then, Mr. Super Spy, what's the deal?"

Michael smiled. "Good, you know who I am. That saves me a lotta time. As for saving your life, if I succeed, I want to know all about your business, your contacts, what you have in your warehouses, everything."

Schmidt coughed and gagged. "You're joking, right? What do you take me for?" Then all of a sudden he was backing up as Michael covered the floor in three quick strides, all signs of good humor and patience gone. His blue eyes were narrowed, hard and icy.

The curved blade of the knife Larry had given him as a birthday present twenty years ago was pressing into the smuggler's soft broad throat, the hand holding it shaking slightly as it struggled not to add the tiny extra bit of pressure necessary to end the life of the obnoxious man at its mercy.

"Do I look like I'm joking?" he hissed. Nobody would ever know how much effort it took for Michael to remove the blade from Schmidt's throat. But once he had, he stepped back and took a couple of deep breaths, as he pushed back the red hot anger burning in his blood.

Gaining back control, Michael smiled again and watched as the shorter man shrank back. "Good, I'm glad we understand each other. Now tell me what you know about Jabbar Hamady and then you can tell me the rest of what I want to know."

()()()()()()

"I don't see why I have to be here? I mean, I thought the whole idea was that you would deal with all the bad guys while I stayed back, a long way back."  
"It won't work unless you're here. Now shut up and look scared."  
"Look scared? I am scared, scared I've entrusted my safety to a -"  
Then there was the sound of a gun being cocked.  
"How about now? You feel scared now, Calvin?"  
"Okay, okay... Oh jeez, they're here, you promised me. Remember you promised -"  
"Shut up... Now, stand up and let them get a good look at your face... And then be ready to duck."  
What followed was the sound of gunfire and then several loud explosions and interspersed all the way through were the loud whiny complaints of Miami's No.1 smuggler, Calvin Schmidt, as his warehouse in Tampa was decimated by automatic weapons fire and a few carefully arranged explosive charges.

Jason Bly ended that particular part of the recording and moved onto the next point of interest. He had no wish to subject himself to Michael interrogating one of the few survivors of the ambush to get the location of Hamady or to listen to Schmidt's endless hysterical musings about how close he came to losing his life.

The next part took place in the street on the corner of Twelfth and Bayshore, late at night. More gunfire, louder this time and more intense, followed by near silence. Then:  
"Jabbar Hamady. Do you hear that sound?" Far off and very faintly, it was possible to make out the sound of police sirens. "That is local law enforcement on their way here. When they arrive they are going to arrest you and, within an hour, you'll be in the hands of the FBI and do you know what will happen next?" The unmistakable voice of Olivia Riley came through clearly in the recording. Unfortunately, Hamady's reply wasn't as clear, but Riley obviously heard what he had to say, as she spoke again.  
"I only require an hour of your time, one hour, Mr. Hamady, and if you answer all my questions, I promise you I will do all in my power to see you go free."

He had no idea how Westen had managed it, but while the fire fight was taking place, the spy had tagged Riley with a micro RFD tracker, which allowed the CSS agents monitoring the situation to get out all their best and brightest surveillance toys to track Riley and Hamady to her chosen interrogation spot and use their hi tech grossly expensive listening devices to hear all she and the Syrian talked about.

What Riley discussed with the Syrian spy could be explained away as an overzealous intelligence officer overstepping her bounds, but doing it for the good of her country, worthy of a censure, at most. But when the questioning finished and she had all her answers, the next words out of her mouth sealed her fate when she offered for the sum of two hundred thousand dollars to arrange for the prisoner to leave the US on a fast boat to Cuba.

From that moment on, it was only a matter of time until Olivia Riley was arrested and brought before a Congressional hearing to explain her actions. All the paperwork was being prepared to freeze her accounts and put her name at the head of the travel watch lists.

With a heavy sigh, Jason Bly closed down the recording and leaned back in his chair. Congressman Cowley was ready to go, filled with righteous indignation and already making preparations to call an extraordinary meeting of the IOC to present the findings of his own investigation.

The congressman wasn't Jason's problem; what had the CSS agent concerned was the mental health of his asset. Michael Westen was getting results, there was no doubting that. But Bly believed the spy was also very close to losing control. When he had listened to the complete recording for the first time, he had been disturbed by the coldly detached tone to Michael's voice as he had questioned Hamady's injured lackey and the casual way he was throwing out threats of violence or death.

Though he wouldn't hesitate to throw Westen into a deep dark pit if he crossed over the line, it didn't mean he wanted to do it.

Jason Bly still had vivid memories of how close he had come to being killed in that bank robbery gone bad several years ago. The arm he'd been shot in still gave him trouble from time to time. Though they had been ready to “go nuclear” as Westen had put it at the time and attempt to destroy each other, the disgraced spy had still saved his life, all the hostages and gotten the criminals arrested. Those were not the actions of a burned spy with a homicidal streak as the man had been portrayed.

Bly had also spent the last six weeks reading through every file Congressman Cowley had sent over. He now had a certain degree of sympathy for what the spy had been put through over the years and of course the latest piece of news that the man was about to become a father weighed heavily on the CSS agent's conscience.

Slowly, he reached forward and picked up his phone. A month ago when he had first become Westen's handler, he had made a call to Dan Siebls for advice on how to manage the spy.  
"I was Michael Westen's friend and his handler for fifteen years and, let me tell you, once you point Michael at a target and let him loose, forget about managing him... Your job as his agency contact is to run damage control. You clean up all the messes he leaves in his wake... Of course you also get all the praise and recognition for a job well done... You want my advice, develop a thick skin and keep reminding all the people he pisses off, he gets results and, at the end of the day, that's what counts."

But that wasn't enough, not any more. What he needed was somebody who could second guess his agent, somebody who could help him wrangle Westen back into the pen. Who would know not only when, but what support the agent in the field required.

"Carney," he spoke to the agent manning the communication desk. "Get me the Chadwick Hotel; I want to speak to Sam Axe."


	26. A Bad Day at Eden Roc

Ireland.........

 

"Grandma?"

The soft feminine voice came from the left side of the large square front of the stone built house.

Both Jesse and Dani looked round to discover a tall slender blond teenage girl watching them through suspicious eyes. She was dressed in what looked like a school uniform of knee high socks, a black figure hugging skirt which finished at mid-thigh, a white shirt and a green blazer with some sort of emblem on the pocket completed the ensemble. But what held both Jesse and Dani's attention was the big black shaggy coated beast at her side, its white very sharp looking teeth barred as its lips drew back in an intimidating snarl.

"Hey! Hey, it's all cool here, ladies." Jesse shifted, putting his body in front of Dani's, his large brown eyes flickering between the smiling old woman with the giant hand cannon and the pretty teenager holding onto what he suspected could be some sort of man eating bear.

All fears he had come to the wrong place had been put to rest at the sight of both past and future Glenanne women. Fiona was the image of the old lady with a gun and the girl's fine sharply defined features could have been Fiona's own.

"We're friends of Fiona's, mates, buddies? You understand? Comprende?"

"Can ya prove it?" The old lady asked. "I'm gonna give ya ten seconds to prove ya know me girl, an' if am not satisfied, me granddaughter thar is gonna loose Candy on ya."

"Candy? Really?" Jesse kept up the chatter as he desperately tried to come up with something that would make the crazy old broad on the doorstep drop the gun and let them into the house.

"Jesse," Dani whispered into his ear. "No pressure, but in case you haven't noticed, I'm not wearing my running shoes."

"Sian, sweetheart -"

"No! – Sian – no!" Jesse held out a hand. "Fi has a tattoo on her foot. A friend did it for her using blue ink and a needle and, when you found out, you grounded her for a month." He spoke without taking a breath and gave Mrs. Glenanne a look of triumph at the end.

"An' whot is thot godawful thing she had put thar?" Maeve asked, her tone softer now, and Jesse was relieved to see her finger had come away from the trigger.

"A harp, the wild harp from the song... She did it because her brother had died and she wanted to remember him."

"Sian, bring Candy along. War goin' inta tha house ta finish our chat. Come along wit' ya both. Ya've made me let all tha heat outta tha door."

This was where Fiona got her crazy streak from. Jesse glanced at Dani, while he chose to keep his thoughts to himself. Once inside the house, Mrs. Glenanne directed them to hang their coats up by the door and leave their shoes on the mat under the row of coat hooks.

She then led them through to a large kitchen with a massive oak table in the center. "Take a seat, an' I'll make ya both a nice cuppa tea." She smiled and began to bustle about and then, as the girl came in behind them with the dog still at her side, she spoke again.

"Sian, sweetheart, tis yar daddy at home t'day?"

"No, he wa' gone when I got up this morning. Uncle Shay is home. I saw Molly this morning at tha school..." Her voice trailed off and she dropped her gaze to the floor.

"I've not lost me marbles yet, Sian. I know ya should be in school, an' if it warn't fer our guests we'd be havin' a conversation about it. But fer now I want ya ta call yar Uncle Shay an' tell ham I have some visitors fram America in me kitchen... An' then yer ta pull tha hem o' yar skirt down til it's at a decent length an' get away ta yar lessons."

At first Jesse thought that he must have convinced Fiona's mother of their good intentions, but with the blond girl standing in the lobby talking in a low voice to "Uncle Shay," he realized he had made a mistake as the furry mammoth masquerading as a dog padded across the kitchen to take up a position between it's mistress and those it obviously saw as interlopers.

"Ya'll have ta pardon Sian. Tha girl got stopped in tha city las' month by some fancy modeling scout fram London. He gave har a card an' booked har an appointment wit' his boss an' ever since her head has been in tha clouds... Now, how'd ya like yar tea?"

Over the next half hour, Jesse and Dani drank tea and ate sponge cake, while Mrs. Glenanne chatted away. As the old lady talked and asked seemingly innocent questions, it was obvious to the two spies that they were facing a master interrogator.

"Ya have such a beautiful color, Dani. So much nicer than these girls I see about tha town wit' thar fake tans half o' tham lookin' like they fell inta a pot o' orange paint. Have ya been stayin' somewhere nice?"

Knowing that the Glenanne's were their best chance of getting back to the US in one piece, both Jesse and Dani were completely honest as Mrs. Glenanne slowly drew out their story. The only things they kept quiet about was Dani's affiliation to the CIA and Michael Westen's abandonment of Fiona.

Then, just as the questions were becoming a little more searching as the old lady caught on to them passing over certain facts, the front door crashed open and footsteps came hurriedly along the hallway.

"Ma! Whot's this abou' two bloody yanks in -?"

"Seamus Glenanne, stop yar yellin' an' take yar boots off an' I'll introduce ya," Maeve called out to her third born son.

Jesse and Dani exchanged glances and then both turned and got to their feet as Fiona's brother walked into the room.

"Jesse, Dani, this is me son, Seamus," Maeve introduced the man who looked to be in his late forties.

At close to six feet tall with a muscular frame, Seamus stood out amongst his more leanly built siblings. He gazed at his mother's American visitors through bright blue eyes, assessing their threat level, all the time puffing on a cigarette which didn't leave his lips. Finally, he seemed satisfied.

"Yer a big fella, how did ya hide yarself away when Sean called in on our little sis?" He stayed on his feet, leaning back against the kitchen counter top. His relaxed manner was belied by the way he kept one arm folded across his waist, his hand resting close to where the handle of a pistol could be seem poking out of the waistband of his jeans.

"I hadn't met Fi then, though she and Sam, Sam Axe, told me all about Sean's visit. From what I heard, it was a crazy week."

"Well, if ya know about thot, ya should know yer not welcome." His voice hardened.

"Well, I didn't know." Dani took a little step forward. She recognized the good cop/bad cop game the Irish mother and her son were playing on them. "Is there a problem, Mr. Glenanne?"

"A big one, darlin' girl. I tried ta call Fiona an' didnae get an answer. I tried tha number Michael gave Sean an' it's outta service. So until I hear fram one o' tham, yer not goin' anywhere."

Maeve gave her boy a pat on the arm and then, in one quick move, took the cigarette from between his lips and handed him a large mug of tea. "He knew all about Fiona's tattoo," she told him. "An they've been travelin' all over Europe, an' befer thot they were caught up in one o' them sieges in Mumbai. McBride wa' wit' tham, but they split up."

Seamus nodded. "Where's Fiona? If we can speak ta -"

"Fi's in hiding with Sam Axe, Sam got shot..." Jesse suddenly had a spark of inspiration. "Aiden Malloy, Mrs. Glenanne, he told me he was indebted to your husband for getting him out of Ireland."

At the mention of the long absent family friend, Maeve sunk down on to a chair, and Seamus was instantly at her side. "Ya saw Aiden?" she asked. There was a tear in her eye and she held on tightly to Seamus's hand.

"He saved us. He gave his life up getting Fiona and all the rest of us out of Panama. Mike is working on making sure the man who caused Aiden's and a lot of other peoples' deaths pay for it."

"Did he tell ya why he had ta leave?"

Jesse nodded. "He and your husband tried to bomb the British government buildings. From what I understand, it failed and Aiden had to run."

Maeve sniffed and looked up at her son, one hand gently ghosting over his cheek. "Help tham, Shay. Get tham away befer Liam comes home."

"Ma..." The Irishman shook his head, obviously torn between doing as his mother wished and following his brother Liam's orders regarding dealing with unknowns turning up at the family home.

Dani gestured silently for Jesse to say something, anything, which would sway the son to follow his mothers wishes. Over the last two years, when Fiona wasn't locked away in federal prison, Jesse had spent quite a lot of time with Ms. Glenanne. Long nights on surveillance detail, while Michael had been off doing his spy thing or sometimes just evenings chilling out in between jobs. During those times, the tiny Irishwoman had opened up a little about her past. Mostly stories about the perils of being part of a large family, little domestic dramas that as far as she was concerned happened to all families.

They had been keeping watch on a large criminal family suspected of being responsible for the majority of the break-ins in a neighborhood and while they sat in his car, watching a variety of men, women and teenagers come and go from the property, they had gotten to talking about their childhoods.

He had told her about going from foster home to foster home, never letting himself get close to any of the couples who took him in, whereas she had given him little snippets of her life as a tomboy living in what she made sound like a war zone.

One little anecdote came to mind. Jesse cleared his throat and then played what he hoped was going to be the winning hand.

"Er, Seamus, dude, I know you want to do what's right for your family, but Fi's your family too and it's important we get back to her and the rest of our friends. I can't tell you how to get hold of her, all I know is she's hiding out with Sam. But I can tell you she still holds a grudge about what you did to her toys."

Seamus stared back, still not completely trusting the strangers.

"I mean, what were you thinking wasting her favorite teddy bear with an M82, man? That's just not cool."

Surely he had to have proved himself a friend by now. Jesse could see Dani thinking the same thing and his hand reached out for hers as they waited to see if Seamus Glenanne was going to offer them a way back home.

()()()()

Sam Axe was woken by the sound of his cell phone vibrating its way across the top of his bedside table. Reaching out with a groan and a muttered curse, he pawed at the annoyance until he managed to pick it up and squint at the display screen, which announced it was an unknown number.

As soon as he pressed the accept key, he heard a no nonsense voice handing out orders.

"Mr Axe? Agent Bly wants you to come into the office ASAP. Do you need transport, sir?"

"Er, no... Why –?"

"I'm just passing on the message, sir."

When the call ended, Sam glanced at the display again and grimaced when he realized it was only five thirty.

"Sam, who was it?" Elsa asked, her voice husky with sleep.

"Sorry, baby. It was Jason Bly. I have to go see him. It's probably another damn Q and A session which just can't wait."

He felt her shift in the bed and her slender arm drape over his side. "It's five thirty, Sammy." She kissed his back between his shoulder blades. "It's only a half hour until I have to get up... It's not worth me going back to sleep."

Her fingers walked their way across his stomach, making their way lower. "Do you have to go right now? Or do you have time to say sorry for your friends waking me up?"

Sam groaned and let his cell phone drop onto the floor as Elsa's hand finally came to rest in that spot reserved for only her. "Baby, you want an apology? Well then, I am so sorry for disturbing your sleep." His voice was low and seductive. "Let me make it up to you right now."

()

Sam eventually made it to the offices of the Counter Surveillance Services (Florida Division) just before seven AM. Not bothering with the courtesy of knocking to announce his arrival, he barged straight through the door the receptionist had directed him to.

Inside he found the CSS officer, looking like he had been up all night, leaning over his desk and studying the array of documents scattered over the surface.

"So, what's up, Bly?" was how he announced his arrival. "This better not be another Q and A session."

"Sit down, Mr. Axe, we have plenty to discuss," the tired looking agent requested. "Two nights ago, your friend Westen got the goods on Olivia Riley. She's going to be spending a long time in a deep dark hole."

Sam smiled and relaxed back, relief flowing through him as he thought they were finally catching a break, but the smile faded when Jason Bly remained stony faced.

"But?" the former SEAL asked warily.

"But, Congressman Cowley is getting ready to call an extraordinary meeting of the IOC to present them with the evidence his investigation has found against Agent Riley... Long story short, if they agree there's a case against her, they'll issue the warrant for her arrest. Along with signing off on all the paperwork, Cowley is now having a burn notice prepared in case she attempts to run."

"What about Card? I thought -"

"The Congressman has concerns that this investigation is taking too long and we're going to lose the element of surprise unless we act now with what we've got."

The younger man shook his head in frustration. It was obvious what his opinion on the matter was, despite what he was saying.

"He is confident that Riley will roll on her accomplice when she realizes she's flushed her career down the toilet and all she has to look forward to is a long stay in an eight by eight cell."

Sam's jaw dropped momentarily, his mind already overflowing with his own bad memories of what the CIA's idea of back up was for what they considered to be expendable assets. He was convinced now that the bastards were going to leave Mikey hanging in the wind to save themselves any embarrassment and thought infuriated him.

"Riley won't give Card up... The guy..." He struggled to find the right words. "You didn't see Mike when he found out who ordered Grey to kill Anson... It broke him. Up till then, he would have done anything that bastard asked him to. He'd have believed every word Card said..." Sam stared hard at the man before him, trying to make sure Jason Bly understood just how deep a hole they were about to all collectively step into.

"Cowley is convinced –"

"Riley ain't gonna be rolling over on the one person she thinks can get her out of this, pal." The former SEAL banged on the table with the flat of his hand for emphasis. "If Card walks, he's going to start cleaning house and we're going to be at the top of his to do list. Dammit, Bly, I trusted you!"

"Hey, not my fault, Axe. Besides you'll all be fine. We have enough evidence to throw doubt on any case he'd bring against you and, as you've all cooperated, I should be able to keep you all out of jail."

"Jesus, don't you get it, buddy? Card's not going to throw the book at us! He already sent an F-18 on a black flight into a foreign country to kill Mike and take out the rest of us along with him. You think he's gonna let us live long enough to show up in court?" Sam ran a hand through his hair and shook his head. "Does Mike even know what's going on?"

"Michael is the reason you're here. When I informed him that we would be moving on Riley, he didn't take it very well. He wanted me to hold off on Riley, said he had a way to bring Card down but he needed more time. When I told him that was impossible, he hung up. As you can probably imagine, I can't get ahold of him. He's in the wind somewhere."

"So I'm guessing your guys checked out the loft?"

"Really, Axe? That's the best bit of advice you've got? I'm disappointed." Bly leaned forward, his expression suddenly very serious. "I don't know if you've noticed, but your friend is wound more than a little bit tight at the moment."

"Well, he has a lot on his mind... If he's not at the loft, is there a chance he would…." Sam felt a cold chill go up and down his spine. "Nah, Mike wouldn't…" He paused again, staring at nothing long enough that it got other man's attention.

"Now is not the time to start being coy, Axe."

"Oh, hell," the former commander cursed as he'd realized the dark place his thoughts were going was exactly where Michael would be heading. "If Mikey thinks Card is gonna walk, he'll go after him. We need to get to Card's hotel right now. Please tell me you have got somebody watching the sneaky sonuvabitch?" His chair had scraped back as he got to his feet.

"No, it was too risky." Bly held up a hand gesturing for Sam to wait and then reached out for his phone.

"Sonuvabitch…" Mr. Axe repeated as he waited impatiently while the CSS agent organized a team to get to the Eden Roc hotel and then the two men almost ran out of the door.

()()()()

Madeline Westen was bored and lonely.

During her three week stay in Las Vegas, she had gotten into the routine of rising early to be with her grandson as much as possible. She was missing the lively chaos of her daily visits to Ruth's small condo and playing dinosaurs with Charlie or even the trial of having to listen to her ex daughter in law discuss her latest diet craze.

Lighting up a cigarette, she got up from where she was sitting at the dining table and walked over to stare out of her sun room window, peering out through the slats in the blinds. She couldn't see them, but she knew she was being watched and she didn't like it one bit. Men working for that man were following her too. She had caught sight of the same car staying back, but trailing her to the store, over to the seniors center and when she had gone to her aqua aerobics class.

Pursing her lips, she turned away. It all seemed so unfair... Why hadn't Michael called to explain what was going on? He had promised to call her every day too. That was another promise broken. Then again, that was just typical of her oldest son... And now, with hardly any explanation, Fiona had as good as cut her out of her life too and Sam was trying to avoid her.

Madeline sniffed..... This was not what she had expected at all.

Turning a way from the window, she went back to the dining table where she had left her sudoku puzzle book open. Dropping back down into the chair she had vacated moments earlier, she picked up her pen and returned to studying the squares and numbers she had yet to fill in to the gaps.....This wasn't how it was supposed to be. She'd had a clear picture in her head on how her return to Miami should have gone. But instead here she was, trapped in her home like a prisoner because of something Michael had done or was doing.

In a fit of pique she tossed her pen across the table so it fell off the edge and rolled across the floor. Then flicking the ash off the end of her cigarette, she drew in more nicotine. Narrowing her eyes, she exhaled and watched the cloud of smoke dissipate before her..... Michael was supposed to be hunting down Nate's killer. He had told her that was where he was going, off to Panama to find the man who shot his brother. Yet now, it seemed something else was going on...Typical!

Her eyes strayed to the telephone. She knew what she needed to do to brighten her mood. Back on her feet, she picked up the house phone and put a call through to Las Vegas.

"Ruth, honey." She smiled as she spoke, her voice full of warmth. "I haven't heard from you for a week. I hope everything is alright?"

"Wow... Madeline, has it been a whole week? Um, er, how are you? Have you spoken to Michael?"

Madeline heard the surprise in the younger woman's voice, but failed completely to pick up on the flat tone.

"No, he's disappeared again. I'm here all by myself." She sighed heavily, but then brightened. "How's my grandson? Can I speak to him?"

"Charlie's having a play date, Madeline. You caught me on the way to work. I was called in for an early shift."

"Oh..." The older woman didn't bother to hide her disappointment.

"Why don't you give Michael's girlfriend a call? She's -"

"Fiona has been particularly hurtful. I don't know -"

"Madeline, what did Fiona say that was hurtful?" Ruth sighed, cutting through her ex mother in laws words; three years living with a very charming addict had taught her to recognize when she was about to be played.

"She told me not smoke - she threw an ashtray through a window and some of the things she said about me, well..."

"Oh, wow, well, Madeline, I really have to go. But why don't you go ask Fiona why she doesn't want you to smoke... You know she might just be worried about -"

As Maddy listened to Ruth babble on, all that had happened during her few days at the safe-house became crystal clear and all of a sudden she felt almost giddy.

"Oh honey, it was lovely to hear from you, but I really have to go... Bye." She hung up the phone without waiting for Ruth's reply.

It all made sense now: the no smoking rule, when Fiona had never complained about her smoking before; turning down margaritas, when they had been made to Fiona's own recipe; the tight fitting clothes, she had noticed her son's girlfriend's clothing had appeared to be even tighter than usual, but hadn't asked about it as frankly Fiona's mood had been even more volatile than usual; and lastly Sam acting like a mother hen, following Fiona around all the time. If she hadn't known the pair so well, she might have thought something was going on between them.

The blond stubbed out her cigarette, grabbed her purse and her car keys. She made it as far as the door before stopping to pull her carton of cigarettes out of her purse to throw them on to the table. If she was right, she didn't want anything to come between their reconciliation.

()()()()

The Chadwick hotel's penthouse suite roof top garden gave a 360 degree choice of views, depending on where you chose to stand or sit. It was possible to gaze out over various parts of the city, or look out over several of the large marinas and the ocean beyond.

The day after her collapse, Fiona was lying on a sun lounger under the shade of a large umbrella, enjoying the relaxing view of a wide expanse of empty ocean. It was only twenty four hours after she'd had the second biggest shock of her life since the first one when she had discovered she was pregnant.

The possibility of losing the precious life growing inside her had become very real and had given her a whole new perspective. Much to the surprise of Sam Axe, Ms. Glenanne had immediately started to follow Dr. Carrick's orders to the letter: staying in bed the rest of the day and making no complaints when Elsa had her personal chef to draw up a special diet for her to follow designed to give her all the nourishment her body needed.

In the back of her mind all the time was a tiny fear: haunting memories of her Aunt Claire. Her father's only sister had been married three times, each husband in one way or another taken from her by the cause that ruled her family's lives even now. But Aunt Claire hadn't only lost her husbands, four miscarriages, three still births and one poor mite who slipped away before his first birthday had also marred her younger years. She had a vague memory of being told it had been similar for her paternal grandmother too. Fionulla Glenanne had only three children who had survived past infancy; was she to be similarly cursed?

"Ms. Glenanne, there is a Madeline Westen at reception. She's asking to see you."

Fiona sat up, drawn away from her dark thoughts by Elsa's maid. The middle aged latina had been watching her like a hawk all morning, anticipating her every need. The Irishwoman suspected all the attention was due to orders issued by Sam or Elsa, as the couple had both been absent when she had finally risen from her comfortable bed.

"Send her up, Marisol, and bring a couple of glasses of ice water over, please."

It had been on the tip of Fiona's tongue to say she wasn't up to receiving visitors. But as fast as the thought had come to mind, she had dismissed it. Now she'd had plenty of time to think about the way she had acted during those few days they had all been together. She knew she had been letting her emotions and her raging hormones take control.

Getting to her feet, she tied a light purple sarong around her waist. Being so slender, she already had a very slight bump. Most people wouldn't notice it, but Ms. Glenanne was willing to concede that Madeline Westen wasn't most people. The woman had a mind like a steel trap and, when she was after something, the skills of a top class operative.

She heard the elevator doors swish open and then Madeline appeared, dressed in white linen pants worn with a dark blue t shirt accompanied by matching blue plastic earrings, bead necklace and bangles.

"Fiona, dear." Michael's mother breezed across the living room and out onto the roof garden, pulling her white brimmed sunglasses down from where they had been placed upon her head as the mid-day sun shone down on her. "I've been meaning to call. How are you?"

Fiona got up and the two women awkwardly kissed cheeks and hugged. "I'm fine, Madeline. How are you?"

They sat down, Fiona on the lounger with her feet drawn up under her and Madeline on a wicker chair next to a small circular glass topped wicker table.

"Well, it would have been nice if you or Sam had come around to see me and I haven't heard a word from Michael."

"Madel-"

"No, wait, let me finish." Madeline's fingers strayed to her purse and then came to a stop when she remembered she didn't have have any cigarettes with her, so instead she settled on taking a sip of her ice water. All the time, her deep blue eyes were studying the rather tense younger woman. "You can tell me to mind my own business. But I was thinking about my stay at that house, after I got back from Vegas, and I was wondering if there's something you want to tell me?"

Fiona could only take so much of that patient look. It was obvious Madeline thought she knew what was going on and she wasn't going to give up until she got some answers. The younger woman bit down on her bottom lip.... Was Michael going to be the last to know? And if he was, would he even care?

"Michael doesn't know yet." She broke under that relentless stare. "And if you speak to him before I do, you must promise me you won't say anything – I'm pregnant."

"Oh, honey!" Madeline beamed. The older woman was on her feet, pulling Fiona into a hug and then giving her kiss. "That's wonderful news. Why didn't want to tell me?"

"I couldn't risk saying anything with the CSS watching our every move and, to be honest, I was trying to keep it a secret until I could talk to Michael and explain."

Madeline was sat back down, her smile never wavering. Fiona noticed the tears in her eyes. "I should have guessed earlier... How far along are you?"

"About 10 weeks."

"This is -" Madeline couldn't find the words, leaning forward in her chair, she took hold of the younger woman's hands. "You've made me so happy. We'll have to go shopping, and -"

Fiona drew back, linking her fingers together and resting them on her lap. "Madeline, I – we need to talk... You can't tell anybody about this, not now. It has to be a secret." She let out a long sigh, not wanting to hurt the older woman's feelings, but knowing if she didn't clear the air now it would only make things worse in the long run.

"You really think you're going to be able to keep a baby a secret?" Mrs Westen replied.

"No, but that doesn't mean I want it shouted from the tree tops either and I don't want anybody else to know until I've spoken with Michael –" The Irishwoman fixed her blue green eyes on her boyfriend's mother. "Speaking about Michael, I want you to stop dumping all your guilt on him. Stop blaming him for everything and start being supportive. You have no idea what he's going through."

"My guilt? He got my baby killed, he -"

"Enough!" Fiona's temper flared in an instant. "Mistakes were made on all sides, Madeline, but ya have ta let it go or it will drive us all away."

"Mistakes? I pray that you never have to go through what I'm going through -"

"Whot yer goin' through?" Fiona sat forward. She was trying to keep ahold of her anger and barely succeeding. "I think I know better than anyone whot yer goin' through. I hadda sister, I was told ta watch over har. But I was angry at being left out of my brothers' plans and I took it out on har. I – we argued. She ran away and – got herself killed, shot down in the street by a stupid boy-soldier– an' I blamed me self fer it... I shoulda been watching har but because of me temper, we fought and she ended up dying thinking I hated har."

The Irishwoman inched forward, the intensity of her gaze searing into Madeline's mind.

"D'ya think me mammy held me ta blame? D'ya think any o' me family treated me tha way you've treated Michael?"

She cut her off before his mother could answer.

"Well, ya'd be wrong. Me mam held me in har arms and she made sure I knew thot tha man who shot me sister wa' tha one at fault and tha government thot protected its soldiers and said it warn't nuttin' but an accident wa' ta blame. And it's tha same now... Tyler Grey killed yar boy, an' Tom Card covered it up. Thar ta blame, not yar son! Stop torturin' ham, he's yar blood and its nae his fault!"

There she had said it. Fiona felt a wave of relief. She should have said this months ago, when she first realized what Michael's mother was doing to her only living son.

"I'm sorry for your loss, Fiona, but -" the older woman began primly.

"But nothin', Madeline. I'm tellin ya if ya carry on blaming Michael, ya will lose the lot o' us. Thar be two people ta blame, Grey and Card. Nobody else. As far as I'm concerned, ya never ever turn on yar family and don' be tellin' me abou' Michael runnin' off either. We both know things happened wit' ham growin' up thot should nae have happened – " She cut off the blonde's protests with a sharp slash of her hand to the air between them.

"If ya cannae do thot fer him now, if ya cannae be thar fer yar own flesh an' blood now an' be supportive o' ham," she paused, her lip curling in disdain. "Then ya cannae be part o' me family."

Madeline drew herself up, her face showing how much Fiona's words had affected her. Then she paled. "Wait – did you say Tom Card, that Tom Card killed my baby?" She felt sick.

Satisfied that she had Mrs Westen's full attention, Fiona continued in a calmer tone, losing her brogue along with her temper for the moment.

"Card ordered a man named Tyler Grey to assassinate Anson. He ordered Grey to take the shot. Tom Card is the reason that Nate is dead. Michael is off now trying to get proof that the man is a rogue agent – If he fails, we could all go to jail – or worse."

The younger woman softened her tone and reached out for Madeline's hand. "Michael is on the edge of a very bad place. He thinks you hate him, he thinks –" Her eyes were filling with tears and she could no longer speak.

"Honey. I'm so sorry."

"You need to tell him. He needs to hear that from you."

The two women were silent, holding hands, drawing strength from each other. Finally, through Michael's mother drew back and got to her feet. Sniffing, she took a moment to look around.

"This is some fancy place. I keep meaning to ask Sam what he does that has these women falling at his feet, but then - I don't think I want to know." She laughed. "Well, are you going to give me the tour and then you can tell me all about my new grandchild."

Fiona and Madeline would spend the day together, their relationship finally back to what it had been before Ms. Glenanne's sojourn in federal prison; however, at another five star hotel, federal agents had taken over a whole floor and Sam Axe was in amidst of it all, wishing he'd stayed in bed.

()()()()

Arriving at the Eden Roc hotel, Sam and Jason Bly were met by two of the agents who Sam recognized as part of the team who had been at the Palm Island residence.

"We have Westen on camera entering Chief Card's suite half an hour ago." The one Sam recognized as Heath started filling them in on what was happening. "We didn't want to bust down the door in case Westen's still on assignment. So we attached a bug to the door and we've been monitoring their conversation for the last ten minutes."

Heath continued to talk as they made their way to the elevators in the parking garage. His partner, a man named Chow, handed them earpieces already set to the frequency of the listening device. Sam fiddled with the bud until with a crackle he picked up the smooth tones of Tom Card.

"You obviously put a lot of thought into this, Michael. I'm impressed. This Schmidt and Vanek are a couple of lowlife smugglers who are involved in many nasty little enterprises... But their set ups are good and they both have a long list of contacts which could be very useful if you wanted to get people or equipment moved about quietly."

More noise, which might have been pages being turned, and then Card was back.

"Michael, did you really think you could get away with this?"

A scrape of a chair moving back, followed by what could have been a gun being cocked.

"Put the gun down, Tom. The truth is going to come out."

As the elevator doors pulled back and the four men stepped out on to the ninth floor, it became clear Michael Westen was in trouble.

"And what truth would that be, killer?" Card sounded completely relaxed and at ease with whatever was happening. "Do you think you can entrap me with this just too cute little file... No, Michael... You and Olivia Riley, two of my trusted students, have been running a scam and when I found out, you tried to drag me in to it. I have friends, Michael. In a long and illustrious career, I have people who are only to happy to watch my back. How about you?"

"Put your weapon down." In contrast to his mentor's calmness, Michael's voice sounded desperate as he barked out the command.

"No, not today, Michael... A secret IOC meeting... A C.S.S plot to bring down one of the best officers in the CIA. I taught you better than that." The ex-training officer scolded his former protégée as if back in the classroom.

"Put the gun-"

Card let out a shrill whistle which made everyone listening wince.

"What are you going to do shoot me?"

Sam could only watch as the men surrounding him drew their weapons.

"I told my people I might get a visit from an unstable asset. GOD DAMMIT! I don't want to do this, I don't make me DO THIS! You're like a son to me..."

They had all looked at each other. It certainly sounded like Operations Chief Card was playing to an audience.

"You are NOT going to get away with this, Tom! You're the reason—" Sam knew his best friend was at his breaking point and his hand itched for a weapon. Why was it taking them so long to organize a breech?

"You killed Grey, Michael, and now you've got Olivia Riley sucked into this mess. You've tied my hands here… I can't let you ruin any more lives, Michael. You're painting me into a corner here, son. STAY BACK, MICHAEL, DON'T MAKE ME DO THIS!"

"We can't wait any longer," Bly declared and, with that, he banged loudly on the door. "FEDERAL AGENTS, OPEN UP!"

A shot rang out, followed instantly by two more, and the thud of a body hitting the floor.

"Mikey! Open the goddamn door!" Sam added his voice to the cacophony of noise as Bly's agents tried to break down the door.

The door to Card's room finally caved in under the assault of feet and shoulders and there was a rush inside. The sight that greeted them would remain with Sam for a very long time: Tom Card, standing over a prone body, his gun aimed at the helpless figure.

"CARD! STAND DOWN!" Agent Bly ordered.

Chief Card didn't even acknowledge their presence. He lowered the weapon until it was aligned with his former prize pupil's head.

Though it happened lightning fast, it felt like everything was moving in slow motion to the ex-SEAL. He reached out and with one quick motion disarmed the agent closest to him and then, without conscious thought, he had raised the weapon and fired.

Afterwards there was complete silence before reality hit and Sam sagged as hands reached out, tearing the gun from his hand and roughly shoving him down on to the floor.

Throughout it all Sam struggled to keep his eyes on the scene before him: Tom Card lying on the floor, with a neat bullet hole in his forehead and his blood and brain matter soaking the carpet surrounding him, inches away from the unmoving body of his best friend.


	27. Homeward Bound

He wakes up fighting for his life. Pain, indescribable pain, rips through his chest. Each inhalation he takes causes a spike of agony that wipes out any hope of logical thought. He is acting purely on instinct and his instincts are screaming at him to get up onto his feet and back into the fight. Regardless of how much it hurts to move, he has to keep going. Everybody he cares about is relying on him.

Twisting and turning, he thrashes about trying to break the hold of the hands which are all over him, tugging at his clothes and trying to pin him to the floor. He can't see clearly and what he can see doesn't make any sense. Somebody is in his face, shouting at him. But his head is filled with the deafening pulsing beat of his heart pumping wildly, making it impossible to hear what they are saying. He gets an arm free and a leg, but before he can do any more, he is shoved back to the floor and ruthlessly held down.

"Mike! Mikey, quit fighting them. It's okay. It's okay, brother. It's over, it's over."

One voice breaks through the roaring in his head and he pauses briefly in his struggle, trying to make sense of what is happening. And that lapse is all it takes for those that have hold of him to immobilize him completely. Unable to move, all the fight goes out of him in an instant and he goes limp. His head lolls to the side and, as he relaxes, his vision slowly clears and he comes face to face with his nemesis.

Tom Card stares back at him through dead eyes; a thin trail of blood sluggishly meanders across the older man's forehead before dripping on the floor.

He can't remember shooting Tom Card. He could have sworn his shot went wide. But he must have done it...... With a smile on his face, he feels a warmth spread through his body and he sinks into the comfortable darkness. He got him..... His last thought is that he can finally let go. He has completed his task and they are all safe. It's over.....

()()()()

As soon as he had fired the shot, Sam Axe found himself grappled to the floor and held there, as more agents rushed into the room. All he could do was watch their feet as they ran past him. Some began checking on the obviously dead Operations Chief, while others joined Bly surrounding the body of Michael Westen and blocking his own view of his best friend.

"Is he alive?" Sam ignored the cold steel which was being snapped around his wrists, pinning his arms behind his back as he craned his head trying to see what was going on. "Is he breathing?"

His hopes were raised as he heard one of the new arrivals ordering an ambulance to the scene. Meanwhile, Jason Bly was leaning over Michael's motionless body, checking for a pulse and then with greater urgency, ripping open the spy's shirt.

"He's wearing a vest," Bly announced loudly enough for Sam to hear. "He's gonna be -"

Bly got no further as all of a sudden Michael reared up gasping in pain, his arms and legs striking out at the men trying to hold him still before he could do any more damage to his already bruised and probably broken ribs.

"WESTEN, STAY DOWN! You're gonna be okay." Bly had hold of the Michael's shoulders, trying to force the younger man to lie flat. But the injured spy wasn't listening as he continued to try to break free. 

"Mike! Mikey, quit fighting them. It's okay. It's okay, brother. It's over, it's over." Sam called out, struggling to rise up, but being thwarted by the two agents who had handcuffed him.

Then, as suddenly as Michael had started fighting, he collapsed back, his body going limp as he stopped resisting.

Those around the injured man all drew in a collective breath and after few seconds relaxed back. Bly checked Michael's pulse again and then got to his feet. "Get this whole floor closed off. One of you start photographing the scene and find that recorder. Card was playing to an audience and it wasn't us. There has to be a recording device in here somewhere."

The ex-SEAL was dragged up on to his feet and the two agents he knew as Chow and Heath kept hold of his arms.

"How is he?" Sam asked while his eyes stayed on where Michael lay as if dead next to the definitely dead body of the Operations Chief.

"His vest stopped the bullets, but he's got a helluva lot of bruising. He's probably gotta busted rib or two, especially after fighting us like that. Look, Axe, we have to get you out of here now. You'll be -"

"No, I'm not going anywhere. I -"

"Exactly what do you think is going to happen in the next ten minutes?" Bly waited a beat. "No guesses? Well, then let me lay it out for you. The FBI is going to come through that door and they're going to take over this whole scene... Meanwhile, I'm going to have the NSA breathing down my neck about why we're running an operation against a high ranking official in the CIA without going through them first.

The CSS agent moved away from the ex-spy's prone body as he continued. "And let's not forget the CIA who, once they get a clear picture of what's happened here, are going to be looking to hang somebody out to dry besides their deceased operations chief and, as you're already one of the main suspects in the death of twelve agents in Panama, do you like your odds? Because I'm thinking you'll be their first choice for a one way ticket to Gitmo."

Sam ignored Bly's question and asked one of his own. "What about Mike?"

"Michael will be going to the hospital and after he's been patched up, I'm sure the FBI or CIA have a nice room waiting for him until this whole thing is cleared up. He has a lot of questions to answer and, depending on what those answers are..." Agent Bly shrugged his shoulders. "He got the goods on Riley. That should help his case," he added as a consolation.

"Can I at least talk to him before your buddies here haul me away?"

"Fine," the younger man sighed and looked around. Turning to the men with him, he said, "Give him a minute and then take him out down the service elevator before the Bureau gets here."

Close up, Sam could see that Michael appeared to be semi conscious. His eyes were open, but staring blankly up at the ceiling. Unable to use his hands, the older man knelt down awkwardly and managed to lean forward enough to put his mouth next to his friend's ear. He could only hope Michael would hear him.

"You're gonna be fine, Mikey. But the feds are gonna throw you in a hole unless you convince the docs you're too sick to be moved. You hear me, brother?... You gotta get home, Fi needs-" Sam blinked back a tear as his voice shook.

It was on the tip of his tongue to blurt out the reason why Michael had make it home, but stopped himself. He had no idea if Michael could hear him or not. But one thing he did know for sure was that in his present frame of mind, the last thing Mike needed was any more stress. "We all need you back home with us."

"Okay, Axe, times up. Come on or you're gonna end up in a prison cell next to your friend."

()()()()

The next time Michael opens his eyes, the pain is gone. He can't move, but for some reason he no longer cares. He guesses they've given him something to keep him quiet. But it doesn't matter. Tom Card is dead, his friends are safe and that means he can rest now because he doesn't care about what happens next.

"You've gotta get home, brother, Fi needs - We all need you back home with us." He hears Sam's voice as if the words are coming from very far away.

But when he turns his head, he doesn't see his best friend. Rather he sees an indistinct figure in a uniform and lots of what looks like medical monitors. When he senses the bed he is laying on is moving, he realizes he is inside an ambulance.

"Agent Westen..." The man in the uniform has noticed he is awake. "Agent Westen, just relax. You're going to be fine, sir. It's lucky you had your vest on. It looks like you got away with a couple of broken ribs and a lot of bruising."

"You're gonna be fine, Mikey. But the feds are gonna throw you in a hole unless you convince the docs you're too sick to be moved," the voice of his best-friend echoes inside his head.

Michael let his eyelids close. So he isn't dying. He isn't sure if that is good news or bad. With the way things have been going lately, it is probably bad. 

As he let the drugs do their job, his mind began to drift over what had brought him to his former training officer's door before he'd had a chance to finalize his plan......

"I can't give you any more time, Michael. It's out of my hands now. Cowley is running the show and he wants to go ahead and bring Riley in." Bly's words had felt like a knife in his back.  
"She won't talk... If it was me, I wouldn't talk. I just need a few more days, Bly. I'm working on something. Once Card sees what I'm bringing him, he'll make a move. I know he will and we'll have him. Just give me more time."  
"Not on the option list, there is no more time. As soon as the IOC gives the go ahead, she'll be arrested and that will be the end of it. You need to come in, Michael. Cowley is expecting you to appear before the committee as his star witness."  
"If I do that, I'll never get near Card again and you know it." He had ground out the statement, seeing everything he had done so far as a futile exercise. "You and Cowley are going to get us all killed... I knew I should have-" He had bitten off his words.  
There was a heavy sigh on the other end of the phone. "Don't make me bring you in, Michael. Seriously, it's better for all of us this way. I'll see you here in an hour."   
He had been furious, filled with a burning rage which had caused him to throw his cellphone across the loft and then pick it up and hurl it out in to the river far below. Jason Bly's words were seared into his mind.  
He'd known that the CSS agent wouldn't wait an hour to send men looking for him, so he'd wasted no time in clearing out of the loft. Once Riley was brought in, Card would know his star pupil had been playing him and everything would be lost. At that point, he'd known he had to go it alone. He was half way down the metal staircase when he'd stopped and gone back.   
He had no idea what had prompted him to return to dig out his bulletproof vest from the back of his closet. What he had know was, despite popular opinion, he did not have a death wish; he hadn't wanted to die a pointless death. He guessed deep down that he had worn the vest because he had known there could only be one outcome when he finally got a chance to go face to face with Tom Card...... 

()()()()

After being taken from the Eden Roc hotel, Sam found himself back in the tiny cell where he had been held on his first night in Jason Bly's custody. Once he was freed of the handcuffs, he was left on his own. At some point while he was sitting on the bed thinking about how things had yet again in a blink of an eye gone from hopeful to one big colossal pigscrew, his mind had gone off on a tangent and turned to the brown haired beauty he had dreamed of spending the rest of his life.

He had bought a ring before they had left for Panama, paid for it in full using money he had saved over the years and a little extra he'd made on a couple of side jobs for Elsa's friends. Nothing dangerous, checking out the boyfriend of a confectioner before the lady invited him to move into her home, a job which had taken two days and gotten him five thousand bucks, and the second job had been for Elsa's head of security, namely finding out where his seventeen year old daughter had run off too. That job had taken a week and hadn't paid anywhere near as well, but it had given him a warm glow when he rescued the girl from her pimp "boyfriend" and returned her to her family. 

Those jobs had reminded him what they had done as a team before Anson Fullerton and Tom Card had sent Michael into a tailspin and ruined all their lives.

A vintage Ashoka cut diamond and sapphire engagement ring was still waiting for him in a jewellery store in Coral Gables. But he hadn't had the opportunity to get there and now he was beginning wonder if he should give up on his quest to settle down with one woman. What could he offer a someone like Elsa Dearbon except trouble? Because of him, in the last year they had spent more time apart than together and, when he was there, he had brought nothing but chaos into her life.

He thought what she could be doing right now. Somebody must have told her what was going on. He paled as it struck him that Bly was going to be too busy handling the vast amount of agencies which were about to become involved in all their lives to even think about letting Elsa or Fiona know what had happened. Leaning back against the wall, he combed his hands through his hair and then let them fall to his sides. What if the first Elsa and Fiona heard about what had happened was on the news? He was still wrestling with his guilt when he heard voices being raised.

"Sam Axe is a protected witness of the CSS! He has -"

The first was cut off by a second officious sounding voice.

"Sam Axe killed a decorated officer in the CIA and our investigation takes precedence over -"

"My understanding is that the FBI-"

"The FBI is -"

"Gentlemen! Enough! Please, in my office, now." Jason Bly's voice rang out clearly and then the only sound was footsteps moving away.

Sam was at the door to his cell. But much to his annoyance, however much he craned his neck, he still couldn't see what was going on. It sounded very much like the vultures were circling overhead. Turning back to his bed, he sat back down. There was nothing he could now but wait to see who won the war of words taking place in Jason Bly's office.

()()()()

"Mr. Westen, can you tell me why you went to see Chief Card and why you were bringing him this dossier?"

Michael stared past the FBI agent's head, ignoring the file that had been slapped down onto his blanket covered legs, as he concentrated his mind on a couple of small marks on the blinds covering his hospital room window.

"Mr. Westen, do you realize how much trouble you are in? Or how much trouble your friend Sam Axe is in? You know a man his age won't do well in prison."

He thought he had been in the hospital for two days, but he wasn't sure. He had been given some pretty strong pain medication and told he needed to have complete rest. The bullets which had hit within inches of each other over his heart had fractured two ribs and bruised his heart. A minor myocardial contusion is what the doctor who had come around to see him had called it. But that bit of bruising had guaranteed him at least a few days in a hospital bed, though it had not stopped the FBI coming in to ask their questions.

Michael watched out of the corner of his eye as Agent Forgot-His-Name and his partner, Agent Tall-Dark-and-Brooding both let out long sighs and exchanged looks of frustration. Tall-Dark-and-Brooding finally broke what he obviously saw as his intimidating silence.

"Westen, we've been at this for two days. You might think this act you're putting on is going to keep you out of jail, but you're wrong. Your only chance of seeing daylight again is to tell us what you were doing in Chief Card's hotel room."

These guys were amateurs when it came to interrogation techniques. Then again it wasn't really their fault. They had nothing he wanted and they had nothing they could use to blackmail him into breaking his silence. That didn't mean they hadn't tried, but he just didn't believe their threats. 

After all, these guys had nothing on the man who had schooled him on the art of interrogation in the field.......

"Jesus man, look why don't I wait outside? I really don't have to be here for this, do I? I mean, you can handle it without me. I'm just in the way here."  
Calvin Schmidt had been a pain in the ass from the moment he had met him and, while he would have preferred to be alone with Jabbar Hamady's henchman, having Schmidt there had been a sort of killing-two-birds-with-one-stone kind of thing.  
"Where can I find your boss? Where's Hamady?" He had barked out the questions in Syrian.  
"I won't talk."   
"Don't then. But see that man over there? The one you were sent to kill? You might've heard of him. He's famous. He can smuggle anyone to anywhere and I'm about to tell him to smuggle you back home... Drop you back amongst your friends... though from what I understand some of them might not be so friendly... It was really bad luck for you all wasn't it? Your boss deserts his post just before the Yemeni government kicks all of you out of the country... Certainly made it look like you knew it was about to happen, didn't it?... By the way, what is the punishment for treason in Syria today?"  
He wasn't proud of what he had gone on to do to make the man talk. There had been no time for a long drawn out interrogation. So he had used certain other methods which he knew to be effective and, just to make sure that Schmidt knew what awaited him if he wasn't forthcoming when the time came to spill the beans on his business and contacts, he had made the smuggler stay and watch. He was still trying hard to justify everything that had happened that night as necessary to get the job done...... 

"This is a waste of time, he's not even listening to us. I heard the doctor talking earlier.” The frustrated voice of one of his interrogators broke through his reverie. “They're gonna discharge him tomorrow. Once he's in our custody, the gloves can come off... Do you hear me, Westen? Tomorrow you get a trip out to one of our facilities and we'll find out one way or another what you were doing in Chief Card's room and what happened to that tactical team in San Miguelito."

In the middle of the night, Michael gritted his teeth and launched himself off the hospital bed. The leads which had been stuck to various parts of his body were pulled free, setting off an alarm which brought several nurses and the duty doctor running.

As he lay on the floor, with his limbs convulsing and drool coming from his mouth, Michael resisted the urge to curl up in a ball to relieve some of the intense pain radiating from his chest. Instead, he arched his back and, just before he passed out from the pain, he had a vivid memory of the last time he had pulled this stunt. He had been fifteen years old and coerced into faking a seizure in Mr. Good Wrench so his dearly departed dad could steal spark plugs for the Charger.

He woke up back in his hospital bed when he felt another presence in his room.

"We've come for Michael Westen. He's being discharged this morning." It was one of the two FBI agents who had been keeping him company since his arrival in the hospital.

Keeping his eyes closed, he remained completely still and waited to find out if his performance the previous night had been enough to keep him out of some FBI black site prison.

"I'm sorry, Agent Brody, but until we run some more tests, Mr. Westen will have to stay here."

Michael smiled inwardly as he heard the good news and continued to sleep off the effects of his "episode."

()()()()

Over the last week, Sam had answered all the questions thrown at him by the assortment of alphabet soup agencies who came calling. The FBI, CIA, NSA, even Homeland Security called in to discuss the bomb used to blow up the CIA tactical team in Panama. They had concerns about the chemical signature relating directly to a certain Irish terrorist who was under the protection of the Counter Surveillance Service.

With each group of agents who came visiting, loaded down with laptops as well as boxes filled with files, he had patiently explained how, on the intelligence supplied by Tom Card, they had travelled to Panama to hunt down the assassin who had killed Anson Fullerton and Nate Westen and how they had captured Tyler Grey and tried to bring him back to the US to face justice.

However, the Panama excursion had been nothing but a trap set up by the Operations Chief to kill them all. An F-18 fighter jet had flown directly over their position and fired a Maverick missile killing Brady Pressman, the desk jockey Card had sent with them to run the mission.

He had explained to them all how they had escaped in a plane piloted by a friend of a friend of Fiona Glenanne, whose names he was unable to remember. He had been injured and lost a lot of blood. He never actually saw who flew the plane. He had been happy to show them all the scar on his arm and also spend several hours telling them all about the physiotherapy he had just started in the hopes of gaining back full use of his arm.

When the smart ones managed to get him back onto the subject of Panama and all that had happened afterwards, he had gone on to tell them how they had been unsure if the CIA team really was CIA because they had watched as the tactical team covered up the scene of the missile strike and removed the little bits of Brady Pressman which had survived the inferno. Later on, that same team had worked with a group of local militia who had kidnapped the son and granddaughter of Fiona's friend Aiden Malloy.

Each time he told the story, he kept the details straight and in the end they had all gone away, if not exactly happy at least satisfied he was telling the truth. He guessed that now they were all busy confirming everything he had told them before the next round of questions would begin.

He rubbed at his temples, trying to massage away the headache which never seemed to quite go away, wondering as he had done since his first day locked in the cell, why hadn't any of the men who questioned him once asked about the killing of Tom Card?

()()()()

"Mr. Axe, come with me, please."

He looked up through bloodshot eyes at Agent Heath. "More questions? How about some answers for once, buddy? What happened to Mike? How are Fiona and Elsa? How about you telling me what the hell is goin' on?"

"Mr. Axe, Agent Bly wants to speak with you. This way, please, sir."

With a huff of annoyance, Sam got to his feet and followed the younger man along the hall to Jason Bly's office. Inside he sat down and found himself facing a rather haggard looking senior agent.

Before he could utter a word, Bly held up a hand to stop his questions.

"Before you ask, Michael is still at Mount Sinai hospital. He had a myocardial contusion from which he is fully recovered and two busted ribs, which will heal eventually. However, he had a seizure five days ago, which by coincidence happened just before he was due to be discharged, and now he has taken to staring into space like some sort of zombie." Bly chuckled softly. "The FBI is getting pretty pissed and demanding a full psych eval. They think he is faking it- and I believe them."

Sam tried to hide his smirk. Michael must have heard his warning and, in a hospital filled with experts and lots of testing equipment, he was doing the only thing he could to keep himself out of prison.

"How about Elsa and Fiona? Are they ….?"

Bly leaned back in his chair and smiled wolfishly. "You know, I really thought Ms. Glenanne was going to be the problem when she discovered Michael was in hospital, but I have to admit I was wrong. Westen's girlfriend has nothing on your Ms. Dearbon."

Sam raised an eyebrow and sat forward eagerly, wanting to hear what Big Momma had been up to during his absence.

"For starters, your lady friend is making Congressman Cowley's life a living hell. She has taken on some high powered legal council, who are making waves up in DC with the IOC." He grinned, barring his teeth and then with a sigh, Bly opened up a file which had been laying before him.  
"But before you get too happy, let's discuss your situation."

Sam sat up straighter, waiting to hear what his fate was going to be.

"There were enough witnesses at the scene to confirm that you shot Tom Card only to save the life of Michael Westen and the forensics prove it. Between our bug on the door and the recording Card was making, we have the evidence showing that Card fired first by a fraction of a second, causing Michael's shot to go wide hitting the wall, and then Card fired a second time, hitting Michael in the chest again, either one of which would have been a kill shot if he hadn't been wearing the vest."

"So, what's the problem, pal? If there's is proof Card fired first and I only shot him to save Mike's life..."

"The problem is the FBI, NSA, Homeland Security and the CIA all want your head, and Westen's, on a couple of pikes. They have twelve dead operatives in Panama, several more wounded and no clear explanation as to what actually happened and where their orders actually came from. With two of the best officers in the CIA having gone completely off the reservation, it's not much of a stretch to surmise that Langley would like nothing better than to throw you both along with Ms. Glenanne into a deep dark hole to cover their own asses..."

Agent Bly paused. Although he tried to hide it, his disgust with the upper echelon's political maneuverings for their own benefit at the expense of Sam and his friends was apparent in his tone but then he surprised the older man by actually laughing low and quiet.

"Only they can't do a thing, because a certain female hotelier is threatening to stir up the storm of the century if we at the CSS and Congressman Cowley fail to honor the immunity deal we struck with all of you."

Sam beamed with pride. Never in a million years had he thought Elsa had it in her to take on all the intelligence agencies in one go. His woman had done something none of them could have managed.

Jason Bly saw the look and his good humor faded fast. He too had been one of the many people affected by Elsa Dearbon throwing money and influence around in an effort to keep her boyfriend out of jail. "Oh, don't think this means you're walking out of here any time soon, Axe. I still think there's someone higher up who is pushing hard for all of you to be dropped into a hole somewhere."

Sam looked up at this. "You think there is somebody else out there gunning for us, gunning for Mikey?"

"No." He shook his head and then sighed. "I don't know. All I am certain about is the CIA is completely embarrassed and wants the whole matter to go away quickly and quietly. But somebody is holding things up... Oh, and there's another agent running some task force in the DR sniffing around, asking a lot of questions about Michael."

Sam rubbed his hands over his hair and leaned back. "So, what you're saying is they know we're innocent, but they're still gonna hold on to us because they can."

"You've got it." The younger man agreed and then he picked up one of the files and opened it, turning the pages until he found the one he was looking for.

"Michael told me to drop it, but I think your old girlfriend might hold the key to getting you both out of here a lot faster and finally wrapping up this whole fiasco."

He placed the file in front of Sam and, as soon as he read the first line on the page, the former naval commander glared up at him.

"She's dead, Bly," he declared flatly. "Rayna Kopec isn't helping anybody, not any more."

"Take a look and tell me what you see," the agent calmly requested.

Sam picked up the page Bly had indicated and began to read, recognizing the highlighted snippets of dialogue from the recording of Michael's first meeting with Card, after the spy had run out on them all in Tallahassee.

Card: Do you think I am the only one who had things they didn't want Anson Fullerton to bring out into the open?  
Card: Do you think I wanted to order Tyler Grey to take you out? I was following orders. Something you seem to have forgotten how to do.  
Card: Your old boss nearly nailed them, but she made the fatal mistake of getting noticed. But she must have known they were closing in on her, because before she died, she passed everything she had gathered upstairs.  
Card: The plan was to let them recruit you and wait for you to bring them down from the inside. We knew you would kick up a stink over the burn notice and go after the people who wrecked your life.

"What are you suggesting here, Bly?" Sam asked. He was too tired to play a game of twenty questions.

"First of all, I tried bringing this up with Michael weeks ago, but he was, shall we say, less than enthusiastic. He told me he wouldn't talk about Rayna Kopec and that I should leave you out of it too. At the time, it was more just to satisfy my own curiosity but well, now I think it has some meaning. I need to know who Ms. Kopec might have passed her report on to. I can't find a record of her handing anything up the ladder anywhere, which leads me to believe it's been destroyed. Do you know who she might have trusted with a copy of her findings?"

Sam felt a pang of jealousy when he realized she obviously hadn't trusted him enough to even bring the subject up. Then he let it go. His former flame had been way too much like Mike when it came to trying to protect people at her own expense. Rayna had been dead for years and he had nearly wrecked his career trying to prove her death wasn't an accident. He had also come very close to destroying his friendship with Michael as at the time, the young spy had insisted the official CIA line was correct.

"Why? What's so important about some ancient dossier?"

Bly sighed and looked at the older man as if he couldn't believe the man was seriously asking that question. "Really, Sam? I've come to expect for much more from you."

The CSS agent took the paper back from Mr. Axe and held it up like a school teacher dealing with a particularly dense student.

"Look here." He pointed out the highlighted words. "I was following orders. Whose orders? Then there's this other part where he says he wasn't the only one who wanted Fullerton silenced... My best guess is there is somebody higher up - the person Kopec handed her findings to before she was assassinated- and they're now trying to make sure their tracks stay covered. Card was recording his meeting with Westen. You heard him he was making it sound like he was being threatened. Am I going too fast?"

Sam sucked in a breath. He didn't know who Rayna would have trusted. They made a point of trying to keep their work and their relationship separate with the rare exception of those times they were working on an assignment together.

"I get it, Bly," he growled. "Some bastard was scared that Anson was about to expose him and he wanted the rest of us dead in case Fullerton had already shared the information. If Rayna's dossier still exists, it's proof that whoever she handed it over to allowed not only allowed Mike to get burned, but also Simon Escher, Victor Stecker-Epps and probably a whole lotta other people we know nothing about..."

Sam grinned suddenly. "It is ancient news, but it would still be very embarrassing and potentially damaging to the man who knew what was going on, but did nothing to stop it." The ex-SEAL smiled wider and his voice took on a mocking tone. "Well, well, Agent Bly, I was told you was some sort of boy scout and here you are talking about blackmailing a senior officer in the CIA."

Jason Bly looked away. It was true. He disagreed with Michael Westen's methods; he believed in following the rules. But working so closely with the disgraced spy's team and learning what they had been through had given him a grudging respect for them all and a healthy disrespect for the people in charge who had manipulated the rules for their benefit at the team's expense.

"Don't get your hopes up too high, Axe. This only works if the guy she handed the dossier too is still alive and still holding some sort of high public office."

()()()()

Michael sat staring listlessly out of the window in his hospital room. The view wasn't much, just the sky, a bunch of buildings and a parking lot. It had been two weeks now since he had faked his seizure and since then he had given into fatigue and let his mind drift. He hadn't realized before exactly how tired he was. He slept, ate and drank when prompted and everything else was a haze. The adrenaline which had kept him going for so long had fled his body and now he barely had the strength it took to walk from his bed to the chair by the window.

He had seen the two agents he still couldn't name every day and he had answered their questions, though even to his own ears some of his replies were disjointed and vague. Their constant threats of imprisonment didn't faze him in the least. His friends had their deal with Bly and, regardless of his personal opinion of the man, he knew the CSS agent would honor the deal he had made. As for his own safety, he had done what Sam had instructed and his seizure had insured him a safe place to recuperate while the medical staff went about running a battery of tests.

As he sat staring into space during his free time, he had began to wonder what other forces were at work because he was pretty sure the FBI could have had him removed at any time to one of their own facilities if they had wanted to. But for some reason they were happy to let him stay in the relative luxury of a private room.

Once there had even been a visit from a lone CIA officer offering to free him and Sam if he would become his asset. He'd listened to the offer, as it never hurt to have a back up plan, but the man was obviously desperate and he knew from first hand experience how bad it was for everybody involved when the man in charge was desperate.

"I'm sorry, I can't help you." He had sent the man away.

"You'll regret turning me down, Westen. Nobody else is going to help you. You're lucky that I'm looking for somebody like you," had been the agent's last words before he slammed the door shut.

Yawning, Michael went back to watching the Miami skyline, wondering how long they would continue to treat him with kid gloves.

()()()()

"You're sure?"

"That was what I was told. So yes, Madeline, I'm as sure as I can be."

Elsa Dearbon rolled her eyes and did her best to remain calm and composed as Mrs. Westen asked her the same question for maybe the tenth time in the last fifteen minutes.

"But why are they both coming here?" The blond folded her arms over her chest and continued to stalk up and down her living room, her jaw working furiously as she chewed a piece of nicotine gum. She had already changed her patch once that morning, so she was using the gum as a supplement.

"I don't know," the younger woman sighed. "The message I received said they would both be delivered to your house upon their release. Maybe it's because Fiona is living here now and Mr.Bly knows how important it is for Michael to see her."

Elsa Dearbon had never truly had to fight so hard for anything in her life. She had been born into wealth. Both of her parents had worked hard all their lives so they could indulge their only child's every whim. She had attended the best college at the time and gone onto to do a year at a Swiss finishing school. When she had eventually returned home at twenty two, she had taken a position as an assistant manager at the Chadwick Hotel in Washington DC and there she had met Evan Dearbon, fallen in love with the hotelier and, three years later, they had married and Evan Jr was born a little over a year after that. In short, her life had, up until Sam Axe had come crashing into it, been relatively uneventful.  
She knew that she was regarded throughout the hospitality industry as a tough but fair employer and that in her business dealings her peers regarded her as being quick witted and very determined.  
So when Sam had disappeared into federal custody and a pair of FBI had turned up at her penthouse to tell her her boyfriend had murdered a CIA officer and Fiona Glenanne was going to be sent back to the UK as soon as the paperwork was signed, she had been surprised by her reaction.  
Fiona's rage had burned bright. Whereas the younger woman had to be stopped from storming out of the penthouse as soon as the agents had left- "I'm gonna get meself a truckload o' C4, an' am gonna drive it straight inta thot bastid Cowleys front door."-Elsa's cooler head had prevailed, reminding her guest that blowing up the Head of the IOC was not going to make her any friends.  
In contrast she had slept on it and woken up the following morning to a growing cold fury building up inside her at the injustice of it all. First of all, they had been kept in the dark as to what had occurred for a whole day. They had let her worry all night, fearing that her boyfriend had been killed or injured working with the CSS.  
Then somebody in the FBI had the temerity to send two of the most unpleasant men she'd ever had the displeasure of dealing with to interview her. Just when she had thought her world was falling to pieces, she'd discovered her Sammy had in fact been cleared of the murder of Tom Card. But instead of being freed, he was still being held over the whole Panama incident. An incident which he and his friends had been promised immunity from conviction by Bill Cowley and the CSS.  
So while Elsa, unlike Fiona Glenanne, didn't believe in threats to do bodily harm, she most assuredly did believe in using her ruthless business acumen to get the result she wanted. Several phone calls later, she had bought the skills of a team of high priced attorneys and the services of the one best political consultants her money could buy.  
All this had brought a stop to Fiona's futile rants, as the younger woman realized that the only way this battle was going to be won was with political pull and legal know how. And that was what had led to the younger woman agreeing to move into the Westen family home. Elsa had known she was going to be working long hours and possibly be away for days at a time and Fiona needed something to do. What better task than to be there to protect her boyfriends mother?

Now, after four weeks of fighting Sam and Michael's corner, she was sitting down, waiting along with Madeline in the Westen family home for the men in question to be returned to them.

"I'm going to try Fiona's number again," Madeline announced stiffly. The blonde was doing her best to cope without smoking, but it was easy to see how much of a trial it was for her.

"You left a message on her voice mail, four messages to be exact," Elsa pointed out.

Fiona had left home before Elsa had received the call to say that Michael and Sam would be coming home. She was attending an appointment with Elsa's doctor friend, Adam Carrick. Though her blood pressure had settled down, thanks to a good diet and some gentle exercise and by all accounts some of Madeline's old yoga tapes had come in handy too. However, Adam still had worries that all the stress Fiona had been under could have effected the baby's development.

Having left four messages, Madeline didn't hesitate to leave a fifth before turning to stare out through the blinds in the sun room.

"It's been an hour. They really should be here by now."

"Madeline, I'm feeling a little parched. Do you have any iced tea?" Elsa prided herself on her good manners, but she really didn't know how much more of the older woman's fussing she could take.

"Yes, dear, iced tea..." She stopped talking as a large black SUV with privacy glass in the windows pulled up on the driveway. "Oh! They're here." And Madeline rushed to open the front door.

()()()()

"Well Mikey, we're here. Are you ready for this?" Sam Axe's cheerful voice grated on the younger man's nerves, though he would never say so.

In fact he had very little to say to anybody these days, ever since he had begun to come back to his senses. Just about everything seemed to be trial for him these days, much less having to face this mother. He wondered how long it was going to take for the pervasive sense of exhaustion to wear off.

Trying his best to hide his discomfort at being dropped at his childhood home, Michael followed Sam out of the car and then stood on the drive way, watching as it reversed back onto the street and drove away.

He turned to stare up at the front door and wonder again why Bly had insisted he come here first. Had something gone on back at the loft? He looked at Sam out of the corner of his eye and knew without a doubt Sam was hiding something from him too.

Letting out a sigh, he started up the row of little steps which led to the door. He would get this reunion over with quickly and then leave to find Fiona. If she was still in Miami, he wanted nothing more than to be with her. They had been apart for far too long and now with his brother's killers dead and his job with the CIA equally as dead, there was nothing keeping him from staying by her side any more.

The front door flew open before he could reach out to knock and he flinched as his mother opened the door wide and greeted him with a bright smile.

"You're back!" Her hand came up to cup his cheek and his heart jumped. How long had he been longing for her to touch him with love rather than hate?

"Mom?" He couldn't help his distrust; he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Moving further into the room he felt Sam push by him. "Hey, Maddy, sorry it took so long for us to call round...Hey, baby... C'mere and give your Sammy some sugar."

Madeline and Michael could only look on as Sam gave a demonstration of the correct way to say "I miss you more than anything" to a girlfriend. When the couple finally broke the kiss and embrace, Elsa was already dragging him towards the door.

Left alone Michael stood in the center of the living room at a loss at what to do. His highly tuned paranoia was telling him something big had changed, but his perpetual fatigue meant he couldn't work out what it was.

"Honey, sit down and I'll make you a sandwich." She stroked a hand down his back and gently urged him to sit in her favorite chair. "Fiona is out at the - er – hairdressers. She'll be back soon... but -"

"Fiona's living here now?" he asked, peering over his shoulder, while still trying to work out what had changed.

"Yes, for the last month... We both needed the company." She brought a plate of sandwiches over and, much to his surprise, she stayed at his side, the fingers of one hand combing through his hair.

Moving his head to get away from her unnatural ministrations, he was becoming increasingly concerned by the way she was acting. "Mom, what's going on?"

"Nothing's going on, Michael. Can't a mother welcome her son home?"

"Sure," he answered suspiciously. "It's just not like you, that's all."

"Well, somebody pointed out to me that I might have been taking my grief out on you and, if I didn't stop, I ran the risk of losing you." Her hand reached out for him and then dropped back to her side when she saw his guarded expression. "I'm sorry for the way I've treated you, Michael. I don't want to lose you, too."

The screech of tires skidding to a stop outside had Michael up on his feet and putting himself between his mother and whoever had just got out of their vehicle and was now rushing up the steps. He only relaxed when Fiona came flying through the door.

"Madeline, I came back as soon as I got your voice mail. Why could - Michael..." She came to a stop as she breathed his name.

Neither of them noticed Madeline slowly step back and go out through the kitchen door.

He stared at her, her long mane of red-brown hair hanging loose over her shoulders. Her skin was paler than he remembered and she wasn't wearing any make-up.

She smiled at him and her whole face lit up, it was as if she had a glow about her and it made him want her even more. Stepping closer, he tore his gaze away from her face and came to an abrupt halt.

She was wearing a long flowing light green dress, but it wasn't the dress that held his attention. It was the small but unmissable bump which disrupted the lines of the dress. As she was walking towards him, he backed up.

"Michael?" Her voice cracked with emotion.

He felt trapped. His chest felt as tight as the day Card had shot him and he could feel the walls closing in on him. All he could see and hear was Bly's smug expression when the CSS agent told him he was being taken to his mother's. Sam telling him Fiona needed him and the way his best friend had been acting in the car. Even his mother's apology... it all added up. They had known, they had all known before him...

Her small slender hand landed on his arm and it felt like fire. He couldn't stay any longer. The weariness that had settled over him for weeks evaporated and morphed suddenly into a full blown panic attack, the likes of which he had never experienced.

"I-ah, I need to go. I'll be back later...I – er – I think I left a booby trap in the loft. I should go. I should take care of it before someone gets hurt."

And with that, he didn't quite run for the door, but it was close enough.


	28. The Domestication of Michael Westen

Michael fled down the front steps of his mother's house without even taking the time necessary to shut the door behind him.

He had spent the majority of his adult life running around the world with a satellite phone in one hand and a gun in the other. He had a rating with every type of weapon, whether it fired a bullet or held an edge. He spoke five languages fluently and several others well enough to make himself understood. Both the military and the CIA had spent thousands of dollars to train him to cope with every possible situation he could run into while out on the job.

But at no time during his service to his country had anybody thought to give him the training manual on relationships and the correct strategy for when you returned home after a life or death assignment to find out your girlfriend was pregnant.

He barely paid any attention to where he was going. His sole objective was just to put some distance between himself and the situation inside his mother's home. He had no car and no intention of trying to take Fiona's Hyundai which was parked up in the street. But it didn't matter because a good long walk or run was just what he needed to gather his thoughts.

His feet hit the pavement and, all of a sudden, it was as if he had run into a brick wall..... What the hell was he doing? He wanted to be with her, so why was he running away?

"Michael!"

He closed his eyes at the sound of her voice, listening to her footfalls as she came down the steps and smelling the soft floral scent of her perfume when she stopped directly behind him.

"Michael, we have to talk."

Her breath tickled the back of his neck, sending a shiver down his spine....... He didn't want to talk. He thought his leaving had made that clear. But, if that was the case, why was he still rooted to the spot, his legs refusing to carry him away?

"The least you can do is face me or are you too much of a coward to even do that?"

He wasn't ready for this. He needed time to think.

Opening his eyes, he tried to block out her presence by looking up and down the street, a myriad of memories filling his mind of when he had played here as a child and teenager.

The rose bush with its yellow blooms which his best friend, Andre had planted after they had driven a home-made go cart through the original bush…the place on the front lawn where his mom used to sit to watch him ride his first bike up and down the pavement... tossing a ball back and forth with Nate, until the time Nate fumbled a catch and a window was broken... the decorative rocks along the border, one of which he had thrown at his dad as he had run away from a not completely undeserved beating…

"Michael?"

What did he know about bringing up a kid? He had gotten his little brother killed and left his nephew fatherless. He was just too dangerous for anyone to be around, especially a helpless, defenseless baby.

He slowly turned around, his features set in a carefully crafted neutral mask as he hid behind his spy façade. For a moment, all they did was stare into each other's eyes, neither knowing what to do or say. Finally though, Fiona couldn't wait any longer for him to take the lead.

"It's yours in case you're thinking -"

"No!" He was shocked she could even think he would accuse her of cheating on him. "No, I never thought..."

"Good." She snapped back defensively. "I didn't do this deliberately, you know. It was a shock to me too."

He had no idea what he was supposed to say. Finally he dropped his gaze, but only for a second as he realized he was looking straight at the cause of his sudden desire to flee to the next state.

"I -" He started to speak but as he stared into her stormy blue green eyes, the words died on his lips and it struck him like a blow to the chest that the reason why he had stopped running was because there was nowhere else he wanted to be.

On the drive over, all he had been thinking about was Fiona Glenanne wrapped in his arms. It had been the same thought that had kept him going while he'd been held in limbo before Jason Bly had arrived and told him he could go home. He had been waiting for a chance to tell her that it was all over and that they could finally be together like she wanted, like he had promised her all those months ago in Panama.

"I'll understand if you don't want anything to do with me or your child, Michael." Her words were laced with a venom even he could pick up on. "But the least you can do is tell me to my face, or is running away the only thing -"

She was angry with him and she had every right to be, but he was baffled as to what he could do to make things right. It was just as he always said, he was useless at this sort of thing. So he did the only thing he could think of. He stopped the threat of vitriol about to bubble forth by taking hold of her arms and stealing her anger fuelled words away with a kiss. Pressing his lips tightly against hers, his tongue ran enticingly along her lips and gums, begging for her surrender. He poured everything he had into that kiss, his arms wrapped about her in a strong embrace as he tried to show her what he couldn't put into words.

When he finally let go and stepped back, she nearly stumbled. "Is that supposed to make things right between us?" she panted as she tried to regain control.

"No, I – erm," he stuttered. He wanted to tell her how much she meant to him. But the words were refusing to come out, as a small part of his brain was still telling him to make himself scarce..... He wasn't cut out to be a father.

"For god's sake, Michael, just spit it out."

"I don't know what to say, Fi. This isn't what I expected." He managed to speak, but one look told him he had gotten it wrong again.

"And you think I was ready? I was on me own, Michael... You left..." She stopped her tirade before she said too much and instead tried to reassure him with a smile. "We can do this, Michael." She softened her tone. "I've had lots of time to think about this and I know we can raise a child."

"How? How can we do this, Fi?" He walked back towards the house, so he could sit down on the steps. With his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, he looked down at the cracked concrete of the path. He was running on empty. The final job of taking down his former training officer and trusted friend had left him so battle weary he couldn't think straight.

"We'll work it out," she replied softly and dropped down beside him.

For some time, they sat in silence on the front step, Michael lost in his thoughts while Fiona was becoming more frustrated by his total rejection of her and their child.

"Don't you want to be with me?" she eventually asked.

Her words startled him. "Yes," he blurted his answer out. "Yes, of course I want to, more than anything, but -" Her finger covered his lips stopping his next words.

"Like I said, I've done nothing but think about this for the last two months and I know we can do this, Michael. I have some things to show you." She took his hand and pulled him onto his feet. "They're inside. Come with me."

He followed her unresisting back into the family home and paused only when he realized what the big change was he had felt earlier. The air was clean; the smell of the tobacco which had clung to every surface for as long as he could remember was gone. Looking up, he saw even the ceiling had been returned to its original white instead of stained nicotine yellow...... His mom had actually given up smoking for Fiona - for their baby's sake.

She drew him over to the dining table and handed him a thick folder. Opening the cover, he saw a photograph of the Palm Island house where he had been taken by Jason Bly to see them. Underneath the photograph, there was a stack of legal documents, architect drawings and contractors quotes for a variety of improvements to the property.

As he turned the pages, skimming over the details, she explained it all to him with an enthusiasm he had only previously witnessed when she was discussing buying weaponry or explosives.

"The place is ideal, Michael. I've already spoken to my brother, Liam, and he has promised to transfer the funds we need to purchase it from Elsa. She's offered to sell it to me, to us, for what she bought it for. What do you think?"

"It's on an Island. You hate – it will be a tactical nightmare." He shook his head. With his paranoia levels set so high, it was easy for him to see all sort of problems with keeping the place safe and secure. "There's only one road -"

"It will be a home, Michael, not a prison. Our family home, there is a security gate at the entrance and we can put our own measures in place, whatever you like. We can even keep a Zodiac in the garage in case we need to make a fast getaway by sea." She was becoming exasperated with his negativity and it was telling in her tone. "Trust me, I've spent very nearly every minute of the last eight weeks thinking about nothing else, cameras, a panic room, infra-red sensors."

He remembered the house and his mind refused to see how her plans would work. They needed a - the cold hard truth was she needed to get away from him and leave him out of her life. He was only going to mess up everything up. He wasn't fit to be anybody's father. 

He carefully put all the details away and, when he looked at her, he bit down on his upper lip, doing his best to keep control.

She looked beautiful, the sharp angles of her face were softer, her breasts fuller. She had curves which gave her a soft femininity. She was everything he ever wanted. He knew he should leave, but he didn't think there was any way he could walk away from her or the baby. 

Before he could put his thoughts into words, she spoke again.

"I was hoping when I showed you this, it would be a happy occasion for us to share." He watched warily as her hand disappeared into her purse, expecting her to produce a weapon or a piece of C4 already fitted with a detonator.

"This is is why I wasn't here when you came home." With a trembling hand, she offered him what looked like a greetings card of some sort.

When he opened it, he let out a gasp and slumped down onto one the dining chairs. He held the card in both hands and stared at the grainy black and white image inside. He didn't have to be told what he held. He could make out the nose and mouth and what he thought was an arm. This was their baby. He swiped a hand over his eyes and barely heard Fiona's words as he studied the picture intently.

"Adam, my doctor, says he can't tell whether we're having a girl or boy yet, but he'll do another scan in a few weeks' time. But he did tell me I'm fourteen weeks and our baby is on the small side - but we shouldn't worry as I have a small frame."

His fingers ghosted over the image…his child, their child…before he reluctantly handed the sonogram back to her with a quivering hand and got to his feet. His head was spinning as he tried to cope. This is all happening too fast for him. He just had nothing left. He felt drained and completely inadequate to the enormity of what she had shown him. Even his voice shook as he spoke. "Fi, I – I just can't do this right now, I need some time," he pleaded. "It's too much."

"You can't do this!? This isn't an op, Michael, this is our lives!"

"I have no money, Fiona, and no job." The words spilled out in a torrent. "No prospects of even getting a job and you want to buy a multi-million dollar mansion? I'm out on parole. I have to report into Bly every day and stay where I can be seen. No jobs, no guns… if I'm caught with so much as a blasting cap, I'm going straight to jail—and, when the dust settles, I could still end up in being dropped into some CIA prison."

He looked on in consternation as her eyes filled with moisture.

"Ya selfish bastid, Michael Westen," she hissed. "Whot, ya think ya can just walk away an' leave it all ta me?" She shoved him backwards so hard, he nearly toppled over the chair and then as, he righted himself, she swung her arm.

The slap sounded like a clap of thunder as the palm of her hand hit his cheek, rocking his head to the side as the whole side of his face stung from the blow. Then came the real shock, as all of a sudden she began to cry, great gulping sobs which made her whole frame quake.

"Fi – I-" He stopped trying to talk and instead drew her into his arms, feeling her tears soak through his shirt, the hard bump containing their child pushing into him. It felt both alien but also completely right.

He peppered the top of her head with kisses and held her until the tears stopped. His head was reeling as he tried to make sense of it all while she sobbed against his shirt..... Somebody should have warned him, prepared him for what he was about to walk into.

"I'm not going anywhere, Fi, I promise. We'll work this out. We'll work something out together." He stroked a hand down her back, trying to soothe away the tears.

He was eternally grateful when she stopped crying. She stood with her head still tucked under his chin and her body pressed up against his. He felt her warmth flow into him and as her tears ended, he felt himself relax. He had no idea how long they stayed there before, with a sniff, she stepped back.

"I'm sorry, I ruined your shirt." She swiped at her eyes. "It's a hormone thing. One minute I want to blow something up and the next I'm blubbering like a baby because we've run out of bottled water."

"It's fine, Fi. I think I still have a few clothes here, unless my mom threw them out."

As if on cue, his mother came back in to the room, her eyes glowing with anticipation as she crossed to where they stood. "So?" She smiled at them both expectantly.

"It seems that Michael has decided to stay," Fiona answered flippantly. "At least for now…"

And with that, she pushed past the father of her child. "I'm tired. I'm going to have a lie down," she announced coolly.

"Fi, Fiona?" He reached for her arm, but she evaded his touch. But when she turned, he saw how tired she looked and knew it was his fault.

"It's alright, Michael... You need time. I get it." And then she was gone.

"What did you do?" Madeline demanded. They both flinched at the slam of a bedroom door.

"Me? Noth -" He dropped his head to stare at the floor, noting that the old carpet had been deep cleaned..... Yet another change, since he had last been at the house. Lifting his eyes, he stared back at his mother.

"Why didn't anybody tell me?"

"Tell you?" Madeline's eyes narrowed. "And how was she supposed to do that, Michael? From what Fiona and Elsa have told me, you haven't been around to be told anything."

"I was doing -" He didn't want to argue. He knew he wasn't up for another fight.

"I know, honey, you was doing what you had to make things right, to keep us safe. Come and sit down. I'll make you some iced tea and tell you what I know."

Frowning, he did as she asked, wondering all the time what game she was about to play. It had been a long time since his mom had shown him any sort of affection and he had grown accustomed to those he thought were trusted friends turning against him. Then as he sat at the table, his eyes drifted to where the sonogram was poking out of the top of Fiona's purse. Hesitating just for a second, he reached out and took another peek at the image inside the card.

Their baby, his son or daughter... He half smiled. Their child, with his stubbornness and her temper… God help them both.

"What have you got there, honey?" Madeline leaned over his shoulder, placing a tall glass of iced tea in front of him and gently holding an ice pack to his swollen cheek. "Oh," she muttered and leaned in closer. "She never said..."

He rested his undamaged cheek against his mother's arm, this time accepting her touch when she kissed the top of his head. "What should I do, mom?" he asked.

"Be supportive, Michael. She's not as strong as she's pretending to be."

He couldn't take his eyes away from the image before him... "Mom, what did dad say, when you told him you were -?"

"Michael, you're not your-"

"Mom…" He needed to know. For some reason he couldn't fathom it was important to him.

Madeline gave a short, humorless laugh. "He told me I'd ruined his life, and then he disappeared for four days, celebrating with his friends that he was going to be a daddy." She shrugged and moved round the table to sit down facing him. "Go be with your girlfriend, Michael. Be there for her. You've been gone a long time and she needs to know you still care."

He nodded. That sounded simple enough: be there for her and be supportive. Finishing the iced tea in one long gulp, he handed his mother the ice pack and got to his feet.

"Thanks, mom."

()()()()

Slamming the door shut on what had become her bedroom a little over a month ago, Fiona leaned back against the hard wooden surface and took several deep gulping breaths. It wasn't supposed to have been like that. She knew he would be surprised. She remembered all her own doubts and fears, but his outright refusal to accept what had happened, that she hadn't expected.

The Michael she knew had always faced up to any problem that crossed his path. He fought his way through and always found a way to make things work. She remembered the look of fear in his eyes as he'd backed away from her. Looking down at the tiny barely perceivable bump, her hands splayed out over where their baby lay safely inside her.

Bly should have given them more notice. If she had known he was coming home, she could have prepared better. She wouldn't have worn this damn dress for a start.

The light green ankle length sun dress was one of her favorites. The material, under normal circumstances, hung in such a way to give anybody watching a tantalizing hint of what lay beneath. Unfortunately, this time it had given the sharp eyed man who had been watching her a surprise he just wasn't ready for.

The door handle turned and she felt a push against her back.

"Fiona, are you alright? I'm sorry, Fi. Please, let me in. We need to talk."

Now he wanted to talk. She blinked away an errant tear and cursed her crazy mixed up hormone-led emotions before standing clear of the door and going to sit on the bed.

"Come in, Michael." She straightened her back and tried to compose herself for round two.

He came into the room and closed the door behind him. Then he stood where she had been only a few seconds earlier. She watched and waited, determined that this time he was going to speak first.

"I'm sorry." He offered her a lop-sided smile in way of an apology. "Of course I'm going to stay. I want to be here with you." He swallowed thickly, "And our baby."

"Don't say it if you don't -"

He was beside her in a second, perched on the bed at her side, his arm sliding about her waist. "I mean it, Fi, I – I meant it before… in Panama... when I said I was done with the CIA."

He sounded sincere and she desperately wanted to believe him. His head was now resting on her shoulder and the hand that had slipped around her back and around her waist was resting very close to her bump.

"I swear, whatever happens, I won't leave you." His lips found her neck and the sweet spot behind her ear and she sighed and leant into his arms.

"Mi- Mic— Michael." She shifted until they were facing each other and took hold of his hands, entwining their fingers. "Michael, we have to talk."

He stared back at her patiently, waiting for her to continue and it took all her self control not to throw herself back into his arms. The sensation of his lips on her neck was still there as was the warmth that had filled her when his hand had slipped about her waist, holding her close.

She needed to be sure his sincerity was for real, that he was through with running around trying to save the world. She had been second best for so long that she just couldn't trust his word.

"I'm not ready for us, for us to -" She felt his fingers tighten about hers and saw concern fill his eyes. "Michael, you left us, you nearly got yourself killed."

She watched as he dipped his chin down and stared intently at the small rounded mound, poorly concealed by her dress. Tentatively, he splayed his palm over their baby. Then, when he looked up to stare back at her, she let out a soft gasp at the expression of adoration on his face.

"You and this here are all that matters to me now. I'll do whatever I have to make things right. You need to tell me, Fi. What do you want me do?"

()()()()

Sam Axe liked all the attention coming his way. Elsa was driving like a lunatic. Well actually, he could have sworn his big momma must have been taking some driving lessons off Fiona the way she was throwing the little red sports car around the corners as she took them towards her mansion on Star Island.

"Hey, baby, I just want to say -"

"Sam, let me concentrate. We can - talk all you want once we get where we're going."

Man, he loved a woman who knew how to take charge.... He smiled and sat back to enjoy the feeling of the wind against his face and though his hair as the Lamborghini Gallardo sped along the MacArthur Causeway.

With the way she was driving, it only took fifteen minutes before she brought the car to a screeching, sliding stop outside the long steps that led up to the front door of the Italian style villa. They ran up the steps hand in hand and, as soon as they were through the front door, she slammed it shut and turned to face him.

She looked beautiful. Her brown hair, normally so styled with every strand in place, was tousled and her gorgeous features were flushed with excitement. Sam reached out for her, planning on showing her exactly how proud he was of everything she had done for him. But then she blind-sided him. Instead of falling into his arms, she stiffened and used two hands and all her strength to push him away.

"Never again." Her voice was quivering with emotion. "Never again do you leave me to go off on some fool's errand."

"Now, sweetheart..." He began his charm offensive. Lifting a hand, he tentatively reached out and pushed a stray piece of hair back from her face. But she tilted her head away and delivered a hard slap to his arm.

Okay, now he knew for sure his lady had spent too much time with Tinkerbell.

"No. This has to be the last time, Sammy... I can't go through this again and neither can you." She turned away from him, her arms folding protectively over her chest. "I spent a lot of time with Fiona while you were away and we did a lot of talking and she feels the same way I do. All the bad men are gone. It's time to get on with our own lives." She turned back round to face him and he could see the anguish in her eyes. "They have a baby on the way, Sam, and it is going to need it's father to be there."

Sam licked his lips, momentarily worried if Fiona was giving Michael the same lecture. But when Elsa moved closer to him, her body pressing up against his and her soft hand ghosting over his bristle covered cheek, he forgot all about his best friend.

"I promise that was the last time and I'll do my damnedest to make sure Mikey gets the message too."

"Good." She seemed satisfied with his declaration. "Now then, let's celebrate... I sent all the staff home for the next forty eight hours and I have ordered in a meal from Temptations Catering for eight tonight. You remember, the one in Coral Springs I used for our anniversary dinner at the beach house?"

He smiled broadly, excited for a really good meal after weeks of eating CIA chow. Then he checked his watch. It was nearly five pm. "Three hours to ourselves..."

His charming smile turned into a lascivious grin. "Well, I better start saying thank you, for all your..." He kissed her neck and nuzzled her ear. "...Hard work." His hands ran up and down her sides. "And for being..." He suddenly lifted her off her feet, causing her to gasp. "...Such a wonderful girlfriend."

Cradling her close, he went up the long sweeping staircase and to the master suite, where he let her know just how much he appreciated her efforts several times over. Thereafter, they fell asleep together, entangled in each others arms. That was until the intercom buzzed loudly announcing the arrival of the caterers.

They ate on one of the many terraces watching the moon slowly rise up into the midnight blue sky and listening to the gently lapping waves against the shore. The catering staff served the appetizers, the first course and then left everything else ready for them to serve themselves before they discretely excused themselves.

The couple finished the meal as Elsa filled him in with all her political machinations, which to Sam sounded a lot like she used every dirty little secret she had picked up over the years to hold over the heads of a variety of politicians and intelligence officers. As she spoke, he noticed the spark of excitement in her eyes and the eagerness in her voice, and he thought she had never been sexier. Elsa Dearbon really did have it all, everything he could possibly want in a woman.

As she continued to talk with enthusiasm, Sam made himself a promise that in the morning he was going to head over to that Coral Gables jewellers and get the ring he had bought before Tom Card had set out to ruin their lives.

"So, it's all over?" Elsa asked as they sipped the last of the wine.

"It's close, baby. I mean, all the charges against me have been dropped, Mike has still got to go up to DC and face a congressional hearing. But it's a good sign that they've let him come home. We're working on one more thing, just to make sure its over for good."

"And this last thing, it's not dangerous, is it?" She sounded dubious.

"Naw..." he drawled in his charmingly dismissive way. "All I'll be doing is pointing Bly in the right direction that's it – and then make an introduction. That's all, I promise, baby."

"I'm holding you to that, Mr. Samuel T. Axe," she declared, taking his hand in hers and leading him away from the table.

()()()()

Michael lay in bed with Fiona's head resting on his chest and her right arm slung across his waist. Staring up at the ceiling, he was finding it impossible to sleep. They had a baby on the way and were nowhere near ready for what was going to be the most important assignment in their lives. All the talk during and after the evening meal had convinced him just how out of his depth he was and how much he had missed while he'd been working to bring down Tom Card.

He curled a piece of Fiona's long auburn hair around his trigger finger.... 

What sort of parent was he going to be? His own dad had been a walking talking nightmare, one that was so bad that when he had left home, he had sought out other role models and eventually he had found Tom Card and Larry Sizemore. One man turned out to be a traitor who had tried to kill him with a Maverick missile fired from a F-18 and the other was a sociopath who would have killed him if Fiona hadn't taken drastic action that had almost gotten her imprisoned for life.

After gently lifting his girlfriend off his chest and onto a pillow, Michael rolled onto his side to check out the display on the alarm clock beside the bed. It was 3:00 AM and he was wide awake. Being as quiet as he could, he got out of the bed and, picking his clothes up, he padded out of the door.

Sitting at the dining table with tumbler filled with scotch at his elbow and the file containing the details of the house and the sonogram picture of their baby, he tried to work out what his role was going to be in his child's life. He was pretty sure he could stop himself from becoming like his own father. After all they were completely different people with completely different life experiences.

His dad, as far as he knew, had never travelled further than his home state of Georgia. Nor had his father fought in wars on four continents or done anything worthwhile in his whole life. His old man had been a womanizing conman, a drunken...

Michael looked at the glass which was now half empty and swallowed thickly...... He had been drinking a lot in the last few months... Anson Fullerton, Fiona's incarceration, Nates death, the whole Panama disaster. With no time to rest, it had all added to his stress levels and now he had congressional hearings to attend, the threat of jail hanging over his head and added to that the news of a baby on the way.

He had a whole load of excuses for what he was doing.... What did he think having a baby was going to be like? How was he going to protect Fiona and their child if he was...

He got to his feet in a rush and carried the glass into the kitchen and threw the contents down the sink. As he stood there in the semi darkness, Michael stared at his reflection in the glass..... He needed to get his act together. 

He had nearly come unglued earlier in the evening when Fiona had innocently told him Jesse and Dani were on their way home, travelling from Ireland to one of the many islands off the coast of Maine in Casco bay.

"Ireland? How did –? How do you know where they are?" He had given Jesse an introduction to one of the best identity forgers in the Middle East. He and Dani Pearce should have been back in America weeks ago.

"Liam told me... Oh, he was mad at Seamus and our ma. He got home from a trip over to Scotland and discovered that while he'd been away, two Americans had turned up at our ma's front door and, not only had she let them inside and given them shelter, she'd talked Seamus into finding them passage back to the states. He was blaming you for blabbing our secrets, but I explained it was me who had told Jesse about where I had spent my teenage years."

"You told Jesse about Ireland? About your family?" If Mr Porter had been there instead of out on the Atlantic somewhere, the younger man would have been in danger of getting a bloody nose at the very least.

Fiona never ever spoke about her family. As far as he knew, not even Sam gotten a word out of her about the Glenanne clan, apart from the tiny pieces which had come out during Sean's stay a few years ago. He had thought they had some unspoken pact, that Ireland was theirs alone, and now she was sharing that with Jesse?

At the time, he hadn't thought she'd picked up on how jealous he had been. He was good at hiding his feelings. When she had flirted with Thomas McKee and then later trailed the paramedic Campbell in front of him, he had been pretty sure she hadn't guessed how badly it had hurt him.

But maybe he wasn't as good an actor as he thought he was, because in the next breath she was saying..."Yes, we used to talk a lot while you were off saving the world with your CIA friends. Jesse and I used to trade stories about our past while we were working jobs together." She had smiled at him, then added. "You know, helping the unimportant people out with their boring little problems."

"Fi, I was hunting down -"

"Yes, I know." She had smiled and shrugged at him. "And while you were doing that, the rest of us were doing something else." 

He narrowed his eyes at the image in the kitchen window. He wasn't going to make the same mistake again. He had to make her understand how much she meant to him. Pursing his lips, he looked back to the dining table and an idea came to him in a flash.

Ten minutes later, he was about to sneak out of the kitchen door with the keys to his mom's Toyota when he turned back and picked up a note pad his mom had left beside the telephone..... Leaving notes was bad trade craft, but for her...

After hurriedly scribbling out a message explaining what he was doing and to reassure her he would be back, he quietly locked the door behind him. Once he was in his mom's sedan, he let it roll off the drive before starting the engine. All in all, he thought the note and what he had planned would show Fiona that he was thinking about her and the baby.

()()()()

She was lying, wrapped in the tender embrace of her lover, his steady heartbeat lulling her into a deeper and deeper sleep. Feeling safer than she had at any other time during the last few months, she let go of all her fears and the tension which had sent her emotions on a roller coaster ride of highs and extremes lows. He was back. He had promised her and his unborn child that he would always put them first... no more CIA assignments, no more conspiracies nor looking for trouble around every corner... and, God help her, she had believed him. She would put her fragile trust in him one last time.

The sun shining through the crack in the curtains woke Fiona from a deep and satisfying sleep. Shifting in the bed, she turned on to her back and stretched her arms out. Sighing happily, she looked to the other side of the bed and frowned.

He wasn't there.

"Michael?"

Sitting up, she noted his clothes were gone and, when she patted his side of the bed, it was cool to the touch. The clock beside the bed told her it was nine am. Remembering how he was usually an early riser and he had been in FBI custody for the last couple of weeks, he was probably already up and completing one of the multitude of small household chores Madeline would have lined up for him. Getting to her feet, Fiona slipped into a pale pink dressing gown and went in search of her boyfriend.

There wasn't many hiding places in Madeline's house. By the time Fiona had walked through the living room, checked the laundry room and crossed over to garage, she had seen all she needed to. He was gone. He had taken his mom's car and left her.

Staggering across to the dining table, a glass of water and her morning multivitamin and iron tablets in her shaking hands, she sat down heavily. She had been such a fool. He had only stayed while she and his mother were awake to stop him from leaving. He had obviously thought things through and sneaked away when he realized how much a baby would impact their lives. Washing the pills down with the water ,Fiona sniffed and reached for the sonogram..... They were on their own now. She wasn't going to waste another minute on that man.

"Good morning, dear. Where's Michael? Is he still -" Madeline's cheery voice sounded loud and clear as the older woman came from her bedroom and made her way to the kitchen.

"He's gone," Fiona replied flatly. "I- I woke up and he was gone."

"Gone where? Oh, did he really...? Oh, that boy is supposed to be some sort of super spy and this is how he writes a note."

Fiona's head spun round at that comment..... A note? Michael had never left her a message before, so she hadn't even bothered to look for one. Getting to her feet she joined the woman who she thought of as a surrogate mother and stared at the scrap of paper in her hand.

I couldn't sleep, so I've gone to make things right. I'll be back soon.

"He calls that a note? What is it supposed to mean?" She screwed the piece of paper up in a ball.

"Well, at least you know he's coming back," Madeline commented brightly. "Oh, honey, you know what he's like... This is a big improvement, believe me."

Well, it wasn't good enough for her, Fiona thought to herself and then she looked again at the grainy black and white image in her hand. It wasn't good enough for either of them. If he wasn't running away, where had he gone? She glanced back to the table and realized what was missing.

"He's gone to Palm Island. He's gone to check out the new house without me," Fiona scowled, remembering how outspoken he had been about her dream house.

"Well, that's a good thing, isn't it? I mean, he's showing an interest," Madeline answered, sounding relieved that the crisis had been diverted.

"He's gone there so he can point out all its faults. I have to get over there. I'm not having him upsetting the neighbors or putting one of the security guards in hospital just to -"

"Fiona, honey... This isn't good for you or the baby... How about I get Sam to go over there? That would be better, wouldn't it? Didn't the doctor say you were to take things easy?" Madeline read the younger woman's stubborn expression. "Why not let him run around after Michael?"

Fiona chewed on her bottom lip as she thought. Then finally, she nodded.

"Fine. You're right. I have better things to do with my time than chase after your son," she groused.

"Good girl. Now you go and have a nice long soak in the bath and I'll get Sam on the case."

()()()()

Sam Axe was traveling up one of the many moving staircases inside the Merrick Park Mall in Coral Gables. The jewelry store he was going to was on the second level and, by luck, nearby was the florist he knew Elsa favored for her personal flower arrangements. He had managed to get a couple of hours to himself this morning as Elsa had to take a conference call she'd been unable to put off.

The ring of his phone caught him off guard, as the only person who should be calling him was, as far as he was aware of, in the middle of a business call with a British travel company.

"Sam, we need you to go to Palm Island right now!"

Sam Axe stepped off the escalator and tightened his grip on his cell phone. "Hey, Maddy..." He waited to hear what her emergency was, knowing it had to have something to do with Michael.

"We think Michael has gone over to the house Fiona is buying and she's very upset."

Sam blinked and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "I'd like to help, ya know that, but I'm kinda in the middle of something."

"He left some stupid note, Sam. Listen to this... I couldn't sleep, I've gone to make things right. I'll be back later... Gone to make what things right? Fiona is beside herself. She wants to go charging over there, but things..." He waited as the older woman took a deep breath. "He ran out on her when he found out she was pregnant, Sam.. Oh, he came back but -"

"Ah, Maddy, you know, I -" He was about to pick up the ring and he had a whole raft of arrangements to make to make the night special for his very special lady.

"I don't want to hear it, Sam. They need you. Michael and Fiona need you."

Sam sighed and gave up the fight. "Okay, Maddy, you win. You're sure about where he's gone?"

"The paperwork's gone, so where else would he be? Unless you think..." Madeline cut herself off. Her son had better not be anywhere else. "Fiona needs him back here, Sam. You know what the doctor said about her blood pressure. Please just go and drag his sorry butt back home."

He looked at his watch, an hour at most to collect Mike from the Palm Island house and drop him back with his girlfriend. He might just make it work. Wishing for only a moment that his friends would learn to chill out, Sam headed for the exit.

"Okay, tell Fi to stop worrying. Sammy is on the case."


	29. The Domestication of Michael Westen Pt2

()()()()

Before I knew your real name, I loved you, before I should have, I trusted you because I have always known in your heart. You do what's right no matter the cost to you and I've learned that, when you love a spy, you have to be willing to make that sacrifice, too.

The words ran through Michael's head as if in a loop as he drove at insane speeds away from his mother's house. He had a clear memory of standing out in the middle of the street in front of the federal building, watching her hand herself over to the FBI, sacrificing herself for the sake of his broken morality, forcing him to remember who he was and the pledge he had made to his country.

At times your job has made it hard to be with you, but it has never shaken my faith in you. I can't let you ruin any more lives because of mine. I have to force you to tell what you know. If you don't, you won't be the man I love. Do the right thing.   
I love you, Michael, forever.

He had broken protocol by keeping the tattered letter, not that he needed to see it because the words were burned into his soul. But he had kept it any way, hidden away along with a few other keepsakes in a secret slick that nobody else knew about.

()()()()

"Hello..." Jason Bly rolled over onto his side and glanced at his alarm clock. Seeing the digits 04:15 illuminated on the screen caused him to sit up, expecting the worse.

"Sir, you asked to be kept updated on any unusual activity - Michael Westen left his mother's residence at high speed and is now at his loft."

Bly stifled a yawn. "Has he broken the terms of his parole?"

"No sir, well, a few traffic offenses -"

"Did he try to lose you?"

"I don't think he noticed we were there or if he did he didn't care."

"And how many times has that dump been searched?"

"I don't know, sir."

"Five times, Hadley, that's five times that I know about. There is nothing left there but a bed and some crappy furniture. Just sit on the place. I'll talk to him tomorrow about making late night trips and driving more carefully." The CSS agent got back into bed. This was the trouble with handling such a notorious asset. All his men were on high alert, every man in the surveillance teams was waiting for Michael Westen to do something spectacular.

"Shouldn't we at least go in, see what he is up to, sir?"

Hadley was just itching to find the burned spy up to no good. The guy was a top flight agent, but he was also a glory hog.

"What did I just say, Hadley? The CIA, Homeland Security and the FBI have been through that whole building, the FBI went through it twice... Let the man get some sleep." He didn't believe for one minute Westen hadn't spotted the tail following him, especially when the streets would be nearly empty at that time of the morning and the fact he had made no effort to lose them told him that Michael Westen had probably just discovered he was about to be a father and was looking for a quiet place to come to terms with the news.

()()()()

Inside the loft, Michael took a moment to look around his home. The house plants had all died, the little baskets of potpourri had lost their scent and dust had settled over everything. As he walked around opening drawers, or running his hand under the counter tops, he noted all the weapons they had hidden about the place had been found and removed. Going over to the filing cabinet he kept in one corner, he opened the drawers to find all his files had been taken away too, no doubt to be pored over by one of the many agencies after his hide.

His eyes skimmed over the bed, but he refused to let himself dwell on their last night in the loft before heading to Panama. Instead he forced his mind on to other things, such as sweeping the room for bugs. After a thorough search, all he found were a couple of listening devices, one in the kitchen area and another in a bedside lamp. Neither were wired into the main power or looked new.

Once he was satisfied that nobody was listening in and there were no cameras watching, he made his way into the bathroom and lay flat on the floor as close to the claw-footed bathtub as he could get and reached out underneath until he managed with a great deal of difficulty to hook his index finger into the narrow gap around the waste pipe. After a little bit of maneuvering, his fingertips brushed over plastic and, a few seconds later, found the length of cord he had attached to his prize.

It took him a while to retrieve the package from its hiding place and, once he had it in his hands, he sat up resting his back against the heavy, immovable, enamel bath. Carefully unwrapping his prize from layers of plastic, he took out two sheets of neatly folded, creased paper and a small, square hard cardboard envelope.

Placing these items in his pocket, he took some extra time to study the remaining items in his stash. Four photographs, one of himself with Nate dressed as the car thief Johnny, with Nate as his minion. It was the last picture their mother had taken of her sons together. It was also the day he discovered he was going to be an uncle. Nate had been happy that day, happy at being part of his big brother's team.

Wiping a hand over his eyes, Michael turned to the next picture, this one of himself as McBride with his arm draped around Fiona's shoulders. They were both beaming and laughing, sitting at a booze laden table in St. Augustine Parish hall during the celebration after the christening of Sean and Rosanna's son, Peter. One finger traced the line of Fiona's wide smile. He found it hard to look away from her joyous features......... When had he last seen her that happy and carefree?

Putting the photo to the back, he turned his attention to the next one. His friends, his team sat at a table in Carlitos. There was a birthday cake on the table in front of Jesse. Fiona had bought it after she discovered the newest member of their ragtag group had no family and had been raised in a series of foster homes.

"I guess with you off fighting for your government and Sam busy with Elsa, me and Jesse just got closer. He told me about growing up alone and the loss of his mom and I told him a little bit about my family."

Michael bit down on his bottom lip, remembering the sharp stab of jealously which had shot through him at the thought of his Fiona spending long hours with the younger, less jaded man, discovering that she had shared what he considered a personal, secret time which belonged to just them. He had kept quite a few details out of his reports to his MI-6 handler and he told Sam, his closest friend, next to nothing about Fiona Glenanne, letting the SEAL commander get all his information from her Interpol files.

With one last look at the picture, it too went to the back as he rotated the photographs...... Why was he feeling like this? He knew she had chosen him, that she loved him. So she shared a few things with Jesse, what had happened was years ago, another time. So why couldn't he shake off the pangs of jealousy?

The last of the quartet of pictures was of him and Fiona. This one had been taken only six months ago, after she had been released from prison, but before they had discovered Tom Card was the man they were after. He'd been having a problem dealing with her getting into dangerous situations and she had shown him how badly he needed her. They had spent three days in bed most of the time, only taking short periods away from the loft to get some fresh air. It had been during one of those breaks for some fresh air and nourishment that they had asked the waitress in the beach front cafe to take their picture.

Sighing, Michael kept hold of the photographs and got to his feet. These were the things that had helped in a small way to keep him grounded over the last few months. Even though he hadn't had them in his hands, just the thought of them had been enough to stop him going completely into the darkness.

Once on his feet, he placed the photographs with the letters and the small box in his pocket and headed purposefully back to the door. Picking up the folder containing all the details of the Palm Island house in one hand, he placed his free hand on the door handle and then paused. Outside Bly's surveillance team were waiting for him. Where he was going next, he wanted a bit of privacy. The last thing he wanted was be picked up for breaking the agreement he had made with Jason Bly to stay in plain sight and be a law abiding citizen.

Making sure the door was securely bolted, he made his way up the metal staircase leading to the raised platform which had served as his office. Then reaching up, he climbed up and out through the skylight and onto the roof. Keeping low, he went to where he had left a rope ladder rolled up for such emergencies and, once he had tossed it over the side, he climbed down and went looking for a new vehicle.

()()()()

Finding a ride had just been a case of crossing over the wasteland between the building he called home, past a couple of warehouses, which in the early hours of the morning were still all locked up, and out on the street. He eventually came across an older model sedan with little in the way of anti-theft devices and was soon making the short drive towards the MacArthur Causeway.

It was just before he reached the A1A that he turned off and drove into the small parking lot in front of the Bayside Diner. Abandoning the vehicle in a dark corner away from the lights and CCTV cameras in front of the low squat building, Michael snatched up the folder containing the details of the Palm Island house and crossed over the nearly deserted road and then easily scaled the fence in to the Miami Outboard Club. Ten minutes later, he was on his way to Palm Island to test the security levels of his girlfriend's chosen home in a Zodiac Cadet 310.

.......Before I knew your real name, I loved you. Before I should have, I trusted you. Because I have always known in your heart, you do what's right no matter the cost to you and I've learned that, when you love a spy, you have to be willing to make that sacrifice too........

Her stay in Allarod Prison had nearly killed her. He knew all about her deep abiding fear of being arrested and locked away. Her father had died while in custody. Her brothers, all of them at one time or another, had been arrested and they had always returned home beaten and abused. Her brief but brutal stay in lockup in Derry before the family lawyer had shown up to free her had been imprinted on her mind forever. He remembered holding her tightly when the nightmares came late at night, usually around the time of some old anniversary. Yet she had put herself in her equivalent of hell for him.

........At times your job has made it hard to be with you, but it has never shaken my faith in you. I can't let you ruin any more lives because of mine. I have to force you to tell what you know. If you don't, you won't be the man I love. Do the right thing, I love you, Michael, forever.......

And what had he done for her in return? But it wasn't just her…Nate… He swallowed thickly and tried to push the thoughts away without success… He should have looked after his brother, kept him safe...

He was disgusted at how easy it was to tie up at the jetty belonging to an empty house and then cut through the property, evading a couple of badly placed security cameras and a ludicrously inadequate motion sensor.

He shouldn't have put his trust in the CIA. He should have insisted on Sam Axe taking on the mission. If Sam had been there, there would have been no need for his little brother to have been anywhere near Atlantic City…if Nate had listened to him, he might still be alive today, but he shouldn't have been there at all.

When he reached the house, he let himself inside, disabling the alarm system and making a mental note to apologize to Elsa when he next saw her. He stood in the hallway and pulled out the architects drawing of Fiona's dream house.

.......It reminds me of the first time I lost you in Ireland. I'd see you in my dreams and when I'd wake up and you were still gone The dreams hurt, but they are all that kept me going. They did then and they do now....... Had she been haunted by the same dreams when he left her this last time?

He walked around the house, noting the improvements since he had last been there. The drywall was all up and had been plastered, ready for painting or hanging wall paper. In the kitchen, all the units were in place and high price appliances fitted in their respective places.

He hadn't only run out on Fiona this time, he had run out on them all and, even when he hadn't truly trusted Jason Bly, he had left them all under the CSS agents protection....... As he walked around, he made notes on the cover of the folder and occasionally stopped to flick through the pages inside to double check a detail.

She had done so much without him... The house was close to perfect. The drawing for a new top of the line security system, the positioning of the sensors... The re-enforced walls for a panic room were already in place... What did she need him for? How could he make things right when she had already done everything?

His hand went to his pocket where the two letters she had written him were hidden along with the small square envelope. She said all she wanted was to be at his side, for them to be together. But would that be enough for her? He ran a finger over the edge of the cardboard package, tracing the line of what it held inside. With no purpose, no job and very little money, could he still be the man she wanted at her side?

He ended up in the lounge, sitting on the couch that was still in the same place it had been on his last visit to the house. Worn out and feeling sorry for himself, he kicked off his shoes and lay down to sleep.

()()()()

Sam Axe eased his borrowed black Audi A8 sedan out into the heavy morning traffic onto the South Dixie Highway. He had planned his morning at the Merrick Park Mall as if he was running a special op. Factoring in a half hour for driving time, he had estimated he had an hour and a half to complete his mission and get back to the Star Island mansion without his absence being noticed.

Elsa was going to be busy for a minimum of two hours and a maximum of three, having to take a conference call she had been unable to re-schedule. In that short amount of time, he had to drive from Star Island across to Coral Gables, find a parking spot and make his way up to the second level of the mall, which marketed itself as a "upscale, lifestyle center."

His plan was to pick up the ashoka-cut sapphire and diamond ring he had already bought and paid for, then go to the flower shop three stores further along and organize for all of Elsa's favorite flowers to be set in extravagant arrangements and delivered to the Star Island mansion before the end of the day. Once these tasks were completed, he had to take another short drive so he could double check in person that Marco, the Miami Chadwick Hotel's chief chef, had everything he needed to prepare the evening meal he had asked for and get it delivered secretly to the mansion.

Of course all his carefully laid plans were now ruined. One phone call and he'd figuratively dropped everything to aid his friends. Checking his watch, he saw he'd already been on the road for fifteen minutes and he hadn't even reached the off ramp for the I-95.

Looking back, he realized that he should have never left his two best friends alone before making sure they were on the same page. On the drive over to Madeline's after being held in custody for three weeks, he had thought about filling his best friend in on what was waiting for him when he got back home. But the kid had looked so lost and disconnected, he hadn't had the heart to drop it all on him while they were in the back of a car with two CSS agents in the front seats listening to every word they said to each other. Then when Elsa had dragged him out, he was ashamed to admit all thoughts about Michael Westen had gone out of his head.

He finally reached the ramp for the I-95. Now with bit of luck, he was mere minutes away from his destination and then, once he got Mikey back on track, he could get back to his own love life. He was already coming up with a plan where he would tell his big momma a little white lie to gain some time to finish his preparations. She might be mad when she got the call to say he had gotten bored and had gone off to do a little fishing off the beach, but he hoped when she discovered the real reason for his disappearance all would be forgiven and the rest of the evening would go the way he hoped.

Coming to a stop at the security barrier at the entrance to Palm Island, he leaned out of the window and showed his identification. "Sam Axe… I'm here to check on Forty Nine Palm Avenue for Ms Dearbon." He waited while the guard took a look on his list and then the barrier went up.

Driving around to the house, he pulled up on the wide circular brick paver driveway and took a look around. There were no other vehicles in sight or marks in the pavers to say another car had been there recently. His first thought that Fiona had to be wrong about where her errant boyfriend had gone. But then he caught a movement in the curtains covering the lounge window. Drawing his gun, in 'a just in case strategy,' Sam gently pushed the heavy oak and panelled glass door open and then, seeing as it was all clear, he cautiously stepped inside.

()()()()

At the sound of car tires outside, Michael sat bolt upright, his hand snaking round to the back of his waistband for a gun that wasn't there. Cursing, he got to his feet and peered out of the window. At the sight of Sam Axe, he slowly relaxed. By the time he opened the door out into the hall, Sam was standing on the threshold of the front door, his Beretta 92FS in his hand.

"Sam?" He couldn't help the sting of indignation at the sight of his friend carrying a gun, something his parole agreement with Bly had denied him. 

"You are about to become a civilian, Michael, and as a first step in your new life, you need to become accustomed to leaving the hardware at home." 

"Hey, Mikey, what are you doin' here?" The dark haired spy stayed in the doorway as the older man instantly put his gun away and closed the heavy front door behind him.

"I could ask you the same," Michael replied, wondering why his friend wasn't still wrapped in the arms of Ms Dearbon. "Why aren't you with Elsa?"

"Your mom called me. Fiona's worried about you, brother."

"I left a note." 

Why would his mom send Sam after him? And what did Fiona have to be worried about? Hadn't he told them what he was doing for once? Wasn't he being followed by enough people without his friends joining in the parade?

"Er, yeah, that note. It kinda freaked her out, Mikey. That last time you left to make things right, we all almost ended up in-" Sam saw the scowl forming and quickly back-pedaled. " I…er...I think she was hoping to come out here with you. You know, give you the grand tour?"

"I needed to see the place by myself. You know get a feel for it..."   
Without having Fiona there hanging on his every word and expression because he knew he couldn't deal with it if he caused her to burst into tears again, he silently added.   
"You want a coffee or something? I think I saw a jar of instant in one of the cabinets."

"Sure thing, Mikey." He followed the younger man into the kitchen and watched as he filled the kettle and set it to boil. "So, what do you think of the place?" he asked, opening up the cabinet which held the glass jar of cheap coffee granules.

Michael leaned back against a counter top beside the kettle with his arms folded over his chest. "The security details suck. I came over on an inflatable and let myself in. I've had the lights on, but not seen any-"

"You came over on a boat?" Sam questioned, not bothering to hide how crazy he thought his best friend was acting.

"I wanted to check out the security. You know, see what -" Michael tried to explain himself.

Since he had returned home, the ex-spy had been made to feel totally inadequate and surplus to requirements. His life as a covert operative hadn't prepared him for coming back to his family, who had apparently decided to make additions in personnel and housing without consulting him. He was hoping for a little support and understanding from his best friend, but Sam didn't even let him finish talking before jumping in.

"Mikey, first off, do you remember what Bly said about no criminal activity? I think that includes stealing boats. And second, you're not in the middle of Fallujah. This is Miami and you're a civilian now."

"Exactly," Michael nodded, only really paying attention to the last five words his friend had spoken. "And that's the point, that's why we need somewhere discreet with more than one road in and out."

"This is a discussion you should be having with Fiona, brother."

"Fi has done nothing but tell me all about her plans. I know what she wants..." He paused, taking some time to study his friend, his eyes narrowing.

All of a sudden, his bubbling paranoia was pouring out over the top as he came to the conclusion they had all known before him. His mind brought forth all the little clues he had missed earlier. And now he wasn't feeling sorry for himself at all, now he was getting angry.

"You knew she was pregnant, right? And that she's been planning all this behind my back?"

"Mike, it's not like that, you weren't around for her to ask... She couldn't hang around waiting for you -" He could see Sam had picked up on his mood and was now twisting the facts to suit him.

"I was - what I did - I had to go after Tom Card, you know that. He would have never let any of you walk away after what happened. You all knew too much. There was only one way to finish it. I did it for her, for all of you."

"Okay, Mike, okay, I get it. I really do. But try lookin' at it from Fi's point of view... you left her right when she needed you. She didn't know if you were alive or ever coming back. You didn't see the state she got herself worked up into."

"But you did?" Michael had picked up immediately on the former SEALs words. He was no longer slouching back against the counter top, but upright with his gaze fixed on his friend. "You knew Fiona was pregnant, and what she was planning and you never said a word to me?" He used a finger for emphasis, jabbing it towards his best friend's face.

"Easy there, fella, I'm not the enemy here..." Sam backed up a couple of steps as the storm broke. "Yes, I knew she was pregnant. I found out about ten minutes after she did, which was a couple of days after you left us… Mike, we couldn't tell you cuz we didn't know where the hell you'd gone or what the hell you were doing... And later," Sam sighed, hoping to make the younger man understand. "She wanted to tell you, brother, but I told her not to. You were already on the edge and I -I didn't think telling you were going to be a father when you were just about to take on Card and Riley was a good idea."

Michael thought briefly about what would have happened in that circumstance, but it didn't mollify his mood. "And later?" he pressed.

"Jeez, Mikey, what do you want me to say, brother? Bly's guys were all standing around at the safe house and in the car ride on the way to your ma's house. At the time, I didn't feel right about just blurting the news out, but maybe I shoulda... Come on, let's sit down and talk about it, huh? I know it's been a shock, but you want out of the agency and you still want to be with Fi, dontcha? So, what's the problem?"

"The problem? The problem is-" Michael waved his arms about. "What about all this?"

"The house…?" Sam was plainly puzzled as what the issue was at hand. "You're gonna need somewhere to live, Mike. You don't wanna stay with your ma forever, do ya? Fiona really likes this place. We were here almost the whole time you were away. I mean, what's not to like? It's a great house in a great neighborhood. You put up some decent fencing, get some motion sensors in and some cameras, bullet resistant glass and re enforced doors and a big screen TV and you'll be set."

"That's the other thing. She's using Glenanne money for all this... I might as well not be here." He was on the move around the room again. "She doesn't need me."

"Yes she does, Mikey, just not the way you think. Fi doesn't need you to do things for her, she needs you to do things with her. Look, brother, ladies like attention and Fi is never gonna admit this and I'll deny ever sayin' it, fella, but you being with her is the only thing that matters to her... The rest doesn't matter at all and you running off on her all the time is killing her."

Michael's eyes went wide and his mouth formed an O, as he tried to find a response which didn't involve violence.

"Look, I understand, I really do. You had a job to do. I get it, but you know she doesn't. You're uncomfortable with her using her family's money to buy a house you've had no say in. I get that, too, Mike. Hey, you don't think hasn't occurred to me that people think I'm mooching off Elsa? But what was Fi supposed to do? Sit around homeless until you came back? And what if you hadn't made it back? Do you have any idea how much that thought scared her? Working on this was the only way to keep her from running off after you, guns blazing."

Michael opened his mouth and then closed it again. He had flashbacks of all the times Fiona had pulled out the hardware and wanted to storm the castle because somebody had threatened or hurt someone she loved. It was the reason he had snuck away from her more than once, to keep her from coming after him.

For a moment, he was back in Ireland, arguing with his first handler, Robin O'Dowd, because Fiona had followed him to the meeting and now she was about to get picked up and he knew he couldn't let it happen. With O'Dowd yelling in his ear, he'd grabbed some smoke grenades and ... He pushed away the memory. Looking back, it had been the beginning of the end of his time in Ireland and it was not something he wanted to think about right then.

Of course she'd poured herself into making a home for their child and she had done it all hoping he'd want the same thing... She was just being who she was... But while it made it easier to understand, it didn't make it any easier to cope with on his part just yet.

While Michael was lost in thought, Sam waited patiently. He could see that he had given the tightly wound spy something to think about. It was written all over the younger man's face as his expression changed subtly as Michael worked through the problem before him.

The former SEAL half smiled. Maybe Mike, who'd spent his whole life finding out things nobody else knew, just resented being the one on the other end of that 'need to know' order with his family. Maybe that was the key to fixing this...but it was going to be painful...

With that thought in mind, Sam edged his way over to the counter top and the boiling kettle. Pulling out a couple of cups from the cabinet above, he quickly made two steaming hot cups of coffee and thrust one into the hand of the younger man, who was still deep in thought.

"C'mon, let's sit down and I'll bring you up to speed," he gently urged the ex-spy to follow him into the living room.

Once they were both sitting down, Mr Axe took a surreptitious look at his wristwatch before beginning to speak. "Look, Mikey... I got something to tell ya and it ain't gonna be easy for either of us..."

Michael's eyebrows swept up and the alarms bells started going off as his already raging paranoia levels hit 11. The coffee cup was carefully placed on the floor and he sat more upright, waiting to hear the worst.

"When your ma called me, I was busy, you know... I was working on something really important... and I gotta get back to it. But you need to hear this before it comes up and you get blind sided again..."

While decades of intelligent work had taught Mr Westen to keep a calm neutral exterior, inside he was trying not to come apart in anticipation of whatever bombshell Sam was going to drop on him this time.

"During his investigation, Bly came across some information and he's figured out that your old boss might have been onto whoever was behind this whole thing and he's gonna try to use it to make this mess go away, once and for all. He didn't want me telling ya about this until he was sure we could get the intel and use it at the hearing."

Michael was momentarily confused, trying to figure out which former handler would have had access to such intelligence and why it hadn't come out before now. The Agency seemed mired in muck... Management, Anson, now Riley and Card... who else was dirty and who else had known about it?

Sam swallowed thickly and continued. "When your ma called, I was on my way to get Elsa a ring... I'm gonna ask her to marry me, Mike."

The younger man went from being suspicious to stunned speechless in a split second. What did that have to do with Jason Bly's investigation?

"Because after everything that happened in Panama..." and he flexed his wounded arm as a reminder, " And talking to Bly about Rayna again...I got to thinking about what happened to her... And I decided that this time I wasn't going to wait around until it was too late."

Michael's mouth fell open. "Ko – Rayn –" he swallowed, as he vividly recalled their final conversation on the topic of his old boss, Station Chief Rayna Kopec. It had been a closed subject for almost a decade now. "Tom said she knew that I'd been targeted by a group within the CIA... Is that – have you found out who she passed her intel onto?"

"That's what Bly is looking into now... But that's not why I wanna talk about Rayna."

"You said you never-"

"I said, I never wanted to hear you speak her name again and that we'd never talk about her or what happened if you wanted to stay friends... so I'm gonna be the one doing the talking and you're the one whose gonna keep quiet and do the listening, fella..."

Mr Westen nodded his silent assent.

"This is probably more than you want to know, but you need to hear this. Rayna and I were alot like you and Fi..." He chuckled bitterly, while Michael tried to block the image of his old boss and best friend doing any of the things he and Fiona were fond of doing.

"Well, no, not exactly, it's more like Rayna was alot like you. She was all about the Agency, the job always came first, but when we found time to get together, we -" The older man blushed as he remembered the sort of things he and Ms. Kopec enjoyed during their down time. A half smile played across his lips again. "I think we both just figured that when we were done working, we would finally be... we thought we had the time to live our lives together after the job was done..."Sam stopped, swallowed hard and then looked back up at his friend, his face a mask of pain. "But we didn't and it almost killed me when she was assassinated."

"I – I didn't know...you were that close," Michael finally spoke, his voice little more than a whisper when he thought back to their conversation, all those years ago in Istanbul, on that fateful day which had nearly ended their friendship.

"So, anyway..." Sam pulled himself together. "I'm not making the same mistake again, Mikey. I'm gonna ask Elsa to marry me while we still have time to be together."

The dark haired man was silent as he tried to make sense of what his best friend was telling him. The idea that Sam Axe was intending to settle down with just one woman had stunned him almost as much as the older man bringing up the subject of Rayna Kopec.

He thrust his hand into his jeans pocket, his fingers closing around the small cardboard envelope. It seemed they were on the same page at least on one subject. Though he had never thought of himself as anything like the former Station Chief, especially as he and his then partner Larry Sizemore had seemed to be always at odds with their superior.

But now Sam had said it, he could see the similarities. He could remember the countless times she had set her mind to something and followed it through, regardless of the cost to herself. The dirty blonde, with her power suits and laser like intellect, had never to his knowledge had a close friend or a family. The Company had been her life and the agents she worked with her only associates. When he had found out about Sam sleeping with his boss, he had been shocked to the core.

"The Ice Queen and the Boy Scout..." Larry had joked when he had passed on the piece of gossip making its way around the US airbase in Turkey.

"Mike, do you get what I'm trying to tell ya, brother?... You've just hadda one helluva close call."

"I get you, Sam." He slowly withdrew his hand from his pocket and smiled. "It's just – just the whole, er, baby... I don't think I... When Nate's baby showed up, I didn't...I mean, I never..."

"Oh, we've all been there, believe me, brother," Sam smiled sympathetically. "Fiona was a mess when she found out. Ya couldn't say a word to her without her jumpin' down your throat. But, she got over it. I mean, it's a baby, it's not nuclear device and neither one of you is stupid, you'll figure it out."

"That's what my mom said. But how are we going to take care of it? I mean... From what you've just said, if it really is gonna be over, there's a chance I could find work... But what do I do? I'm not going back to the CIA, even if they want me. Private contracting is just as risky as working for the Agency and I'd be gone -" He shook his head and looked at the floor. "I don't want to leave, but I've gotta work."

Sam chuckled. "You're not me, that's for sure. Sitting out by a pool all day, enjoying the view and sipping mojitos isn't your thing. And let's be honest, Fi ain't the stay at home type either. But that's a problem for another day. For right now you both need to chill out.. You're due a life time of R n R, buddy, and Fi-"

He didn't know how much Fiona had told her boyfriend about her health, but former SEAL had guessed the Irishwoman had said very little if anything at all. "Fi, has her own problems."

"Problems?" Michael sat up straight.

"Blood pressure, hers keeps going up. We've all been hoping now you're back that it'll settle down."

"She never said... What does it mean?"

"It means she needs to rest up and avoid stress, which is the exact same thing you should be doin'." He looked at his watch again and pursed his lips. He was definitely late calling in. "Hey, how about we stop off at the CSS HQ, you go check in with Bly and then we'll grab a bite to eat."

The spy got to his feet, feeling more optimistic than he had before Sam had turned up. They left the house together, the older man frowned when he saw the state of his girlfriend's alarm system.

"Mikey, ya coulda called me and I'da given you the code..." Sam opened the driver's door to the Audi. "You're payin' to have this fixed, fella, and before you tell me you've got no money, I know you've got the skills to help me out with painting Elsa's sailboat when it goes into dry dock next month."

The ride to the CSS office was taken more or less in silence, as both men were lost in their own thoughts. Michael was slowly coming around to the idea of fatherhood and that he could give Fiona what she wanted, while Sam was beginning to worry that his carefully planned evening was in danger of being canceled.

"I'm gonna wait out here for you, so no trying to duck out the back..." Mr Axe treated his friend to his best stern look. "While you sign in or whatever it is you have to do, I'm gonna give the ladies and call and try to smooth things over. How'd ya feel about lunch at the Chadwick, on me?"

Michael paused, thinking over the offer. "Sure." He got out of the Audi and then leaned back inside. "If you're callin' the house, my mom's car is at the loft. Can you take me over there afterwards to pick it up and let them know?"

Sam sighed, "Not a problem, Mikey. Now go see Bly before he puts out a BOLO on your ass."

The former SEAL watched as his friend went through the glass doors into the lobby of the building containing the Counter Surveillance Service offices. With one of his friends calmed down and back to thinking straight, it was now time to get the other one on the same page and then he could get back to his own special op.

Reaching for his phone, he put a call through to Fiona's cell phone. As soon as he finished dialing, his call was answered.

"Sam? Have you found him?" He could hear the stress in her voice and it made him more determined than ever to get his friends back on track.

"Yeah, we've hadda long conversation and he's checking in with Bly now... I suggested we all meet up for lunch at the Chadwick, you, me, Elsa and Mike what do you think?"

He could her hear her sigh. "I'd love to, Sam, assuming you can get him there."

"I think we can manage that. We're gonna go to the loft and pick up Maddie's car and then he can pick you up and I'll go get Elsa."

"So, what did he say? Was he at the house?"

Now came the difficult bit. "Yeah, he was at the house... I think you ladies may have spooked him a little, you know, with all your plans for the future."

"He doesn't want to be with me?" Her tone was somewhere between anger and cleverly disguised anguish.

"Where'd ya get that idea from, Fi?"

"He ran away in the middle of the night, Sam, again. What else am I supposed to think?"

"That he is right about where you were three months ago... You do remember how crazy you were in the early days, missy? He just needs some time to catch up that's all. Fi, the guy just came home from a life or death mission. I know you remember what post-mission paranoia is like. Mike is still in full-threat operational mode and, all of a sudden, he's had all this stuff thrown at him. He's not really said much, but maybe you and Maddy could ease up on him a bit."

Fiona huffed. "Did he think about us when he ran off in the middle of the night? How many times before he stops disappearing on me? What is wrong with him?"

Sam closed his eyes and swallowed. He wondered briefly if it wouldn't be quicker just to get them in the same room and knock their heads together until they both saw sense or stars, whichever came first.

"He's trying, sister. Hey, at least he left you a note this time, lady. Mike was just doing what he thought was right, Fi. He -"

"I don't want to hear it, Sam... He always does what he thinks is right and be damned what anyone else thinks. When he going to learn to talk-"

She had a point, but then again so did Michael.

"Said his trigger happy girlfriend," Sam snarked, glad for the moment he was out of her reach as she growled into the receiver. "Look, once he's finished with Bly, he'll be over to pick you up. He really wants to be with you, you know that. I mean, just think back to what he was like when Anson had his claws in you or when you went to jail. He went to pieces, Fi... All I'm asking here is you give him a chance to unwind and get his head on straight." He waited for her reply with bated breath.

She sighed heavily. "I can't keep doing this, Sam. I just can't..." and the brokenness in her voice made the older man sad for the both of them. The Irishwoman had a hard enough time dealing with Michael's perceived rejection of her without adding a baby and the hormones and stress that went with it into the mix.

"And nobody expects you to, sister... I'll send him back to you soon. Play nice, okay? And thanks, Fi."

With that call over, he took a moment to catch his breath and think about his next call. Elsa's meeting had to be over by now and she had to wondering where he had gotten off to. The former SEAL hadn't picked up the ring or gotten to any of the other assignments he had set himself.

He could maybe sneak off for a few minutes to speak to Marco, the Chadwick's head chef. But what to do about all the other stuff? A smile slowly broke out on his face and he had the answer. It would help his friends get the alone time they needed and help him out at the same time. Dialing in the number, he waited for an answer.

"Hey, Maddy I found Mike. He's gonna be home soon with your car to pick up Fi. They're gonna join me an' Elsa for a meal. You know, so we can keep an eye on them for a bit."

"So, everything is fine? Did he get his head outta-"

"Yeah, we're working on that, Maddy... But what I'm really callin' about is, do you think you can do me a favor? I need somebody to pick up a special gift for me. It has to be kept on the down low. Can I count on you?"

()()()()

Michael walked stiffly out of Jason Bly's office, doing his best to hide exactly how infuriated he was. The guy, for all his easy going attitude and slightly sarcastic turn of phrase, had just bawled him out like he was some kind of delinquent kid.

Yes, he remembered the rules of his parole. He also didn't need reminding he was the CSS and Congressman Cowley's star witness at the upcoming hearing in DC. He also knew that his reputation was beyond tarnished and, if he wanted to stand any chance at all of remaining free instead of spending the rest of his life in some black site prison, he needed to use the few weeks before the hearing to prove to the intelligence agencies and the law enforcement community that he was capable of being a law abiding citizen and was no threat to national security.

The spy stabbed at the elevator call button, staring at his flushed features in the mirrored surface of the doors.

He hadn't been given any opportunity to defend his actions, just a severe warning. No more giving his surveillance the slip, no more late night racing around the streets and, even though there is no concrete proof it was him, no more borrowing without asking other peoples' cars or boats. One more infraction of the rules and he would get a one way trip to Guantanamo Bay until they decided what to do with him.

Reaching the ground floor, Michael marched out of the building and only took a deep relaxing breath once the sun hit his face. The thought of having to go back into that building and face Bly lecturing him on his behavior every day for however many weeks there were until the Congressional hearing was almost more than he could bear.

"You okay, Mikey?" Sam called out from where he sat waiting in the shiny new Audi.

Michael took another deep breath and plastered a reassuring smile on his face. "Yeah, Sam, just great." He climbed in the passenger seat and beamed another smile at his best friend. "You gonna take me to the loft so I can pick up Ma's car... It's, er, nearly lunchtime."

"You sure you're okay, buddy? You look a little green around the gills there." Sam pulled out into traffic and set off towards the loft.

"I'm fine. I guess, I'm not used to having to report in to somebody."

"oooh, did the big, mean Counter Surveillance guy tell you off?" Sam chuckled. "Man, next time I'm comin' in with you, Mikey, to hold your hand... Or do ya think ya might wanna call your mom into his office."

"Okay, enough, Sam. I got it when Bly started in on me. Just – just let it go."

He turned his head to stare out of the window, signaling that he had had enough. But he couldn't stop the half smile which curved his lips. There was no doubting the fact that his best friend knew exactly what to say to make him realize he had been acting just like the delinquent kid that Bly had made him out to be.

()()()()

He was a block away from his mom's house when Michael brought his mom's car to a stop. He put the late model import into park and let go of the wheel, his hands dropping limply into his lap.

It was so long ago, or at least to him it felt like a whole other life time. Nate had still been alive, though he was a total mess. His mother still looked at him with something akin to pride in her eyes. Sam had just had a narrow escape. He could still remember the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach when he had jumped out of the Charger at the meth lab out in the Everglades. He had been positive that Rebecca Lange, Anson Fullerton's lackey, had killed his best friend, but mercifully she hadn't, and his trusted former training officer, Tom Card, had given him hope that Fiona would soon be freed from Allarod Penitentary.

Michael shifted in the car's less than comfortable seat, his right hand digging into his jeans pocket. From the very first time he was told he would never be given permission to visit the prison, he had started carrying Fiona's letters around with him. He'd decided if she was going to be made to rot away in a prison cell, he no longer cared about protocol. He put the letters on the passenger seat on top of the photographs which he had already placed there.

His actions had forced his girlfriend to turn herself in for a crime she hadn't committed and then he had almost gotten his best friend killed during his efforts to get her out of the prison she had willingly walked into. After Sam's near miss, when he had gotten a few minutes to himself to think things through, he had made a decision. If he managed to get her out of prison, he was going to make some big changes to his life.

To that end, he had made a call to Barry. What he wanted, he couldn't get through normal channels. One, he couldn't afford it and two, it would have brought too much attention his way. Besides Card or Raynes would have put a stop to it as soon has they found out.

"I want an Asscher cut engagement ring." He had handed the stunned money launderer one of Fiona's dress rings. "The same size as this and the best quality that this will get me." He'd written a figure on a scrap of paper. "Take it out of my account... Oh, and if you mention this to any one at all, there will be little pieces of you washing up on the beaches surrounding the Gulf of Mexico for weeks to come."

Mr Westen held the small, square hard cardboard envelope in his hand. In his minds eye, he was seeing the white gold and platinum ring inside. He had intended to give it to her on the day she walked free, but Nate's death at the hands of Tyler Grey had put an end to that and then, before he knew it, they had been mixed up in yet another conspiracy.

The dark haired man had left in the early hours of the morning to make things right. He had messed up a lot of things in the last year, though at the time he had been sure he had been doing the right thing. Everybody at some point had told him the same thing, including Fiona herself. All she wanted was for them to be together, doing whatever... for him just once in his life to make her his first priority.

He turned the thin cardboard envelope over and over in his hands....... Would this make things right, or would it make things a whole lot worse...? He'd had the ring for months, only waiting for the right time, but she didn't know that... Would she think he was just making a gesture because she was pregnant? Or because Sam was proposing that he was following suit.....

Michael glanced up and caught sight of the car's clock display. He couldn't put things off any longer. She was waiting for him to get back home. Putting the envelope back into his pocket, he put the Toyota into gear and continued on his way to his mom's house.

The ex-spy had honestly thought once he got clear of the CIA, his life would become less complicated. Pulling up to his mothers driveway, he looked up at the house. Well, he guessed he was wrong...

Complicated didn't even begin to describe his present circumstance.


	30. Atlantic Melody

Jesse and Dani.......

Far out in the North Atlantic ocean, somewhere in between south western Greenland and the eastern coast of the United States, Jesse Porter stood on the deck of the Greenlandic registered fishing vessel Soslangen.

After nearly a week on the hundred and thirty foot long beam trawler, the former CIFA agent had grown used to the constant pitch and yaw caused by the rolling waves and easily kept his feet as he looked out over the seemingly never ending water.

"I swear, when we get back to the States, I never want to see or smell another fish, ever."

Danielle Pearce, wrapped up in so many layers of clothing that the normally svelte woman was unrecognizable, joined him at the rail. Sliding her arm around his, she rested her her head against his shoulder. After two years in Miami, followed by months in India, the CIA agent was finding it impossible to keep warm in the Arctic weather.

"Oh, it's not that bad," Jesse disagreed. "You should try living at Casa Westen, an' having to face Mikey's mom's home cooking every day. Wading around in a ton of freshly caught mackerel is nothing compared to getting up in the morning to the smell of one of Maddy's breakfast specials."

Dani sniffed and attempted to snuggle closer to the man at her side. "You miss her, don't you?"

"Maddy? Yeah, I guess I do," he replied. "It's crazy, but with everything that's gone down over the last few years, we've kinda become this weird-ass dysfunctional family. I hate the idea that sonuvabitch Card has done anything to her."

His eyes narrowed, as through the sea spray he caught sight of a white object bobbing on the waves.

"Hey, is that our ride?" He gestured with the tilt of his chin.

"Looks like it," Ms. Pearce agreed, just as a shout went out from one of the crew and the Soslangen's engines roared as the trawler began to make an arcing turn to rendezvous with the smaller craft.

"I can't believe that we've agreed to keep quiet about all this."

At the CIA agent's words, Jesse freed his arm from hers and turned to face the dark haired woman. "We have to. Hey, Dani, remember you swore -"

"It's okay, Jesse. I have every intention of keeping my word. I just hope I don't live to regret it."

Agent Pearce couldn't help how she felt. On the word of one self confessed rogue agent, she had abandoned her official posting in Mumbai to travel under a false passport half way across the world, ending up in Ireland and now, along with a man who was most likely on the FBI's ten most wanted list, she was using the resources of a terrorist organization to effect a covert entry back into her own country.

They had been enjoying the hospitality of Maeve Glenanne's home for two days when Seamus, the lady of the house's third born son and the clan's chief gunrunner, had appeared back in the large farmhouse style kitchen looking like a man who was very much at the edge of his patience.

"Well Fiona's done it this time... Thot girl could start a conversation wit' a pacifist an' I swear she'd turn it inta World War Three." He pulled out a chair and slumped down, resting his elbows on the kitchen table.

When nobody spoke immediately, the normally easy going Irishman began to tell them all exactly how bad things were.

"So, I wa' expectin' a few problems, whot wit' Fi droppin' Greyson Miller inta hole fer tha CIA. I knew no one who lives in or does regular runs ta South Florida wa' gonna feel like doin' a favor fer a Glenanne. At least not any one I'd care ta do business wit... Oh, by tha way, Greyson Miller has put a right nice bounty on Fi and Michael's heads, three quarters of a million dollars, so I hear. But as it turns out tha Brit gun runner is tha least o' our troubles..." The Irishman paused for dramatic effect, locking his eyes on the tall bald headed American. "T'is only rumors am hearin' but word is out yar man, Westen, has gone rogue. He's workin' fer some Mexican cartel."

"That's a lie!" Jesse had leapt to his feet, his hands banging down on the table top to make a point. "Mike would never sell out. It has to be part of his -"

"Take it easy, am jus' passin' on tha gossip, lad... It dinnae matter tha why fer, all thot matters is tha people I do business wit' won't help me out while me sister an her boyfriend are busy drawin' this much attention."

"Can't you take us back? You have a boat don't you?" Dani had asked.

"I have a boat, more than one, but thar out at tha moment... I have a livin' ta make, sweetheart ,an' my lil sis ain't makin' it any easier with all her shennigans."

"Fi did what she had to do to save her life, dude. She was gonna end up dead or rotting away in a jail cell if she hadn't given up Miller." Jesse had felt the need to defend his friend's actions.

"Bah, Miller's a Brit. Nobody o'er here is really thot bothered about ham getting' locked up. Whot has everybody worked up is she's fecked up trade along tha eastern seaboard. Oh, it'll sort itself out once they all realize how much money thar losin'... But thot don't help us now, does it?"

Maeve handed her son a glass of whisky, placed two more, one each in front of her guests, on the table and then picked up one for herself before announcing in a matter of fact tone."Well, thars naught fer it, yer gonna have ta call Finnegan."

"NO!" Seamus spat a mouthful of spirits across the table and got to his feet. "Ya got me lying ta Liam an' now ya wan' me ta brin' in Finnegan?! Liam will kill me fer sure, thot he will!"

"Yar brudder won't be killin' anybody, at least not ye, not fer this at any rate..." The matriarch had informed her son calmly and then added in a harder tone. "AM tha one tellin' ya ta call Finnegan an' AH'll be tha one explainin' it ta Liam. Now, away wit' ya an' make tha call."

"Fine..." The Irishman capitulated instantly to his mother's demands, but then turned to the elderly woman's guests. "But only af'er these two agree ta a coupla t'ings first."

The few things Seamus had demanded were that they would keep quiet about who they were and promise, even on the pain of death or torture, they would stick to the new identities he was going to have worked out for them for the duration of their time with the mysterious Finnegan and secondly they would never, ever mention how they managed to get out of Ireland.

Dougal Finnegan, Seamus explained, was a special kind of smuggler. Along with a brother in America and a cousin in Greenland, they were the men that the PIRA turned to whenever they had an important package or people to deliver discretely across the pond to the US.

That night after a lot of whispered phone calls, they were whisked away to the middle of the countryside and in a large flat field where they boarded a small aircraft. After a short refuelling stop in Iceland, Finnegan had flown in low over to Greenland and, once there, delivered his passengers on to a working trawler on its way out to catch mackerel. For the last week, they had found themselves helping out where they could, which mainly meant, once the catch was dropped onto the deck, helping to sort through the fish and packing them in ice, much to Dani's displeasure. But she didn't mind the "what" she was doing as much as the "why."

"Hey, Jamie!" one of the crew called out to Jesse. "You and tha Missis should get ready. We get this hand over done quick, yes?"

"Sure thing, Sven," Jesse answered and waved back. "Come along, Mrs. Dolan. From what I hear, this next bit is going to be fun."

"Fun, really? Jumping from one boat on to another in the middle of a frigid ocean has never been on my list of fun things to do."

"Aw, come on now, you were a field -" he cut himself off, swallowed and started again. "Just think of it as taking a really big step over a puddle in the road."

The dark haired Mrs. Dolan stared up at her husband. "I think you spent far too much time with Seamus Glenanne. Next you'll be telling me, tis fine bright day wit' just a hint o' a breeze," she said in a passable imitation of their benefactor. "Instead of just barely above freezing with a forty mile cross wind."

"Here's yar new identities." Seamus had handed them an envelope as they travelled towards the airfield. "Finnegan only does work fer the Cause. So yer Jamie an' Dolores Dolan, Jamie is a recruiter an' is on his way o'er ta America ta drum up support fer tha Cause, seein how it's been fallin' off o'er tha last coupla years, and Dolores is his lovely young bride who he cannae bear ta be apart fram."

"Young?" Dani had hastily turned to the back page of the red UK and Northern Ireland passport in her hand. "This woman is twenty seven. How –?"

"Ah, you'll be fine lass, ya donnae look a day o'er twenty one, does she, Jamie?"

"You're still mad cuz that customs guy at the harbor in Nuuk checked out your passport?" Jesse grinned.

"That passport said Dolores is twenty seven," Dani hissed. "I told Seamus that I'd never pass for twenty seven. That one slip could have -"

He stopped her words with a kiss and then smiled down at her, remembering how he had set up Madeline with an ID as a fifty five year old in an effort to charm the elderly woman into helping them with a job. "But it worked. He let you through."

"Yes it did... But that doesn't make it a sound tactical decision."

"It worked." He shrugged and kissed her again, then took hold of her hand. "And now we need to get our bags because that yacht is pretty close now."

"Won't it be noticed when the real Dolans fail to turn up to do their recruiting?" Dani had pressed for information as she slipped a plain gold wedding band onto the third finger of her left hand.

"Tha real Mr. and Mrs. Dolan will arrive ta do their job. They'll jus' be a few weeks late, thot's all." The Irishman had replied with an easy smile.

"Do they know why -?" The CIA operative pushed for further clarification. It was hard for the highly trained operative to put her life into the hands of those she considered amateurs in covert affairs.

"At tha moment, they know feck all, darlin'. As soon as I got word who wa' Finnegan's next job, I arranged fer tham ta get held up, in a manner o' speakin'... Me ma is gonna have a word wit' tham, along wit' Liam most likely, an' I'm sure by tha time they leave, they'll be happy wit' tha new arrangements."

The yacht on which they were going to make the final part of their journey could be seen clearly now. A sleek white vessel half the length of the trawler, its sails were down as the skipper was using the motors to maneuver closer to the larger ship.

"Five minutes, Jamie."

"We're just going to pick up our bags now," Mrs. Dolan smiled at the crewman.

The man turned away and then turned back again. "Your American accents are quite good," he praised the Irish couple. "I hear it some times in Nuuk, when the men from the airbase come into the town."

"Couldn't have done it without the little woman here," Jesse declared, throwing his arm tightly around Pearce's fabric-swaddled shoulders. "She ragged me day and night to stay in character. Wouldn't even let me drop the accent when we-"

"That's quite enough now, Jamie. You're embarrassing this young lad," Dani said firmly, forcing a bright smile to her lips, beaming at the young sailor. "Excuse us, we need to get our bags now."

Inside the small cabin they had been assigned, their limited supplies were already packed away in one medium sized hold all. Apart from a couple of changes of clothes and a few toiletries, the only other thing they had with them was a large stiff cardboard envelope wrapped in cellophane to protect the contents from getting wet.

Maeve had handed Dani the parcel just as the couple were about to follow Seamus out to his SUV. The older woman had caught hold of the slender CIA operative's arm and gestured for her to step back inside the house.

"I have a favor ta ask... Can ya give this ta me girl? It's some photos an' letters. I know I'll never get ta see har again, but I want har ta know we all still love har."

"Mrs – Maeve, I'm sure arrangements can -"

The old woman shook her head sadly. "She cannae come home, an' I cannae go to har... But tell har fram me, Am speakin' ta Liam when he gets back about makin' some changes. After whot's happened wit' Miller, everyone an' his dog knows she's living wit' an American spy. I think it's safe fer us ta talk wit' out bringing down tha wrath o' god upon our heads."

"Well, Mrs. Dolan, are ya ready ta take a stroll wit' me across... Owww!" The last part came as his wife applied a very effective and painful pressure hold to her husband's wrist.

"Stop that, just stop. It's painful to listen to and you're going to blow our cover."

"Okay, I'm not going to blow our cover, but you need to lighten up." Jesse rubbed at his wrist ,but his eyes were focused solely on the woman before him. "What's up? I mean, I know it's been a few years since you've been out in the field and this isn't exactly a sanctioned mission."

"Nothing about this is sanctioned, Jesse," she hissed back. "I've abandoned my team in Mumbai, I've broken so many protocols I've lost count." She pulled down the hood of her coat and dragged her fingers through her hair. "And not only are we using the services of a terrorist group to gain entry to the US, we've promised to keep quiet about how said terrorists are moving people around the world."

"Said the woman who once bribed a bunch of terrorists to move a party during an op in Beirut," he shot back, reminding her of what she had said early on that fateful day Nate Westen had died.

"Bribing somebody to move a party is not the same as leaving an illegal entry point into our country unreported, Jesse," she snapped at him.

"Hey, hey, chill out there. It's gonna be fine." He held up a hand to stop another angry outburst. "It'll all work out. We can't say anything that'll get Fi's family in trouble." He looked at her with real concern in his eyes. "Dani, are you sure you're okay? Does this have anything to do with Mike and what's going on with Tom Card? I mean, I know the guy meant a lot to you, he meant a lot to Mike once too. But -"

"No... Well, maybe. I don't know..." She sighed heavily and looked away. "I had just forgotten about the joys of working with Michael Westen...Sometimes, I don't know why we put ourselves through this."

"You said we, does that mean you want make us official?" Jesse grinned broadly.

"One thing at a time, Mr. P - Dolan... At the end of this little escapade, we could both end up being detained in a federal prison." With that she picked up the carry-all, gave her partner in crime a quick peck on the lips and opened the door to step back out into the cold and the wind. "Let's go and take that step over the puddle you were talking about earlier before I change my mind."

()()()()

Fiona and Michael........

Michael stood in front of his family home, chewing on his bottom lip, his hand hovering over the brass plated door handle. This was it. He swallowed and pushed down the butterflies in his stomach. He couldn't wait or rather dared not, the fear that something would happen and he would lose his chance urging him onwards.

Taking a deep breath, his hand closed on the handle and he went to step forward and then, in that instant, a deeply buried uneasiness washed over him. It was the same feeling which always accompanied him whenever he hesitated and allowed his thoughts to linger for too long on what could waiting for him on the other side of that door.

"People from happy families don't become spies."

Closing his eyes, the dark haired ex-spy took a moment to quell the ghosts of his past. He was no longer a child and the abusive drunk who had come close to destroying his family was gone forever. What waited for him now was a woman he loved with all his heart and who, he was pretty sure, held the key to him keeping his sanity in the face of what was to come over the next few months.

Releasing his grip on the door handle, the former operative brushed his fingers over the slight bulge in the back pocket of his jeans. He could do this. It was the right thing to do. It was something he should have done all those years ago when he was in Ireland... He should have never listened to Tom Card... or to Liam Glenanne.

Swallowing thickly, Michael reached out again and this time slowly pushed the door open and stepped inside.

"Michael, about time. Where have you been?" His mother breezed into the living room from the kitchen, with her oversize yellow purse in one hand and her large white rimmed sunglasses clutched in the other.

"Mom..." He barely got out that one word before she was in front of him, her bright blue eyes raking him up and down, making him feel like he was back in his teens and up to no good.

"Do you have any idea how long you've been gone for? We've been so worried. You can't just wander off like that, not now. Your pregnant girlfriend was getting ready to tear Miami apart looking for you. You have responsibilities now... You know, Michael, part of being there for Fiona is actually staying around for longer than five minutes! How do you think she-? Oh, my keys, thank you. I have some errands to run and you've already made me late."

He stood still, letting his Mother's words wash over him. It was obvious from her non-stop stream of questions and her observations on his shortcomings that she wasn't actually interested in anything he had to say. Wordlessly, he held out his hand so she could take the proffered keys and then with a gentle pat to his cheek, which he somehow managed not to flinch away from, she was out of the door and on her way.

Alone in the living room without another soul in sight, the raven haired man let another heartfelt sigh escape from his lips and glanced upwards in gratitude that he wasn't going to have to deal with his mother listening in as he had the talk with his girlfriend. He was placing the folder filled with the house details down on the table when he heard her voice.

"Michael, I thought I heard voices. Has Madeline gone -?"

"She said she had some important errands to run." He turned to face her and instantly felt a strong pull on his heart, urging him to grab her up and hold her close.

The woman he loved stood in just inside the living room, having come from the bedroom at the back of the house. Her long auburn hair hung loose over her shoulders and she was dressed for their lunch date in a short white sun dress which did a good job of hiding the soft swell of her belly while at the same time displaying her toned slender legs to their full advantage.

For several seconds, there was no sound as the couple stared at each other while Michael desperately searched for the right words. In the end, Fiona broke the stare to glance at her watch. "Sam said we're meeting up with him and Elsa for lunch. Shouldn't you go and get changed?"

"Ah, yes, I should." He pulled himself together and then, gripping the back of one of the dining chairs, he gestured for her to take a seat. "But first I think we should talk."

He saw the way she pursed her lips and felt his stomach knot. If I get this wrong... That didn't bear thinking about.

As she took the chair, her eyes went to the folder. "So, what did you think of the house?"

He took a seat next to her, close enough to touch and yet they remained separate. "I – I should have waited for you to show me around. I'm sorry, I just wanted to -" His words faded as her blue-green eyes narrowed and her hand slapped down on the table top.

"It's always about what you want, isn't it, Michael?" she spat out angrily. "I can't keep having this same conversation with you." She drew back her chair, as if to get up and leave, but then stopped when he leaned forward and took hold of her hands in his.

"Please, let me finish... I - I wanted to visit the house on my own because I needed sometime to myself, to think about, well... everything... I just got dropped back here, Fi, and with everything that has happened..." He choked a little bit, trying not to let the weight of what he had been through overwhelm him... "Everything has changed so much while I was out there...and, and I needed a little time to catch my breath." He paused to inhale deeply and was pleased to see she wasn't looking quite so defensive.

Heartened by the softening in his lover's expression, he continued. "However, there are some things that are still the same... The way I feel about you will never change, Fi, please believe that. I made you a promise, in Panama. A promise that I intend to keep... When, when you handed yourself in to the FBI... I thought... I mean, I didn't ... I was lost, Fiona. All I had were these..."

Letting go of her hands, he pulled out the letters and pictures from his pocket and carefully laid them out before her on the table. She gasped a little as he placed her well worn letters from her time in Allarod on the table. "And these...these photographs. The people in this one are my family, my only true friends." He pointed to Jesse's birthday celebration. "These four people here are all what's left of my world... I would die for any one of them."

He picked up the photo of him and Nate, holding it with a kind of reverence, his voice softening as he thought about his brother. "I kept this one to remind me why I had to keep fighting. I owed it to Nate and my Mom to finish it and, even though it meant in the end I had to leave you to complete the mission, I couldn't let my brother's murderer get away with it."

"Michael," she sighed his name. He knew he wasn't telling her anything she hadn't heard from him before, but he it was all he had.

"Fiona, please, I'm nearly done." He maneuvered the last two photographs in front of her. "Do you recognize this one?"

"Peter's christening." Fiona smiled fondly, picking it up to take a closer look. "Did you know Sean and Rosanna thought briefly about asking you to be a godfather? Very briefly. I think Sean may have been drinking more heavily than usual, but back then Rosie was convinced we would always be together."

"We were always together." He smiled remembering those heady days early in their relationship. Then he drew her attention to the last photograph. "And this one, this one I – I put with the others after, after I got back from Tallahassee. I - I think this was the last time I saw you truly happy."

He coughed and looked longingly over her shoulder to the liquor cabinet...

"There's just one more thing." He eased the small cardboard envelope out of his pocket and held it in his hand. "One thing, more than anything else that I regret not doing earlier."

He held out the envelope in a shaking hand. "I've been planning this for a long time...When you first got out of jail, I'd hoped to - but then-" He shrugged his shoulders there was no words to explain how he had felt on that terrible day, at least no words he wanted to repeat.

He felt the moisture gathering in his eyes and almost felt relief at the unshed tears shining brightly in her own beautiful orbs, relief that she understood how he'd felt in those dark days afterwards and he didn't have to explain himself. Of course, that didn't mean she was as understanding about the rest of what had occurred.

He watched nervously as she opened the envelope and brought out the ring.

"What is this?" she asked, her eyes going wide at the sight of the Asscher cut diamond in its setting.

"This... this is..." Swallowing Michael took the delicate ring and took hold of her hand. "This is me asking you to be my wife."

He waited, his hand shaking and his heart thumping wildly. Why wasn't she answering?

"You have no idea how long I've waited for you to -"

Michael looked up and straight into a pair of watery blue-green eyes and a wistful expression.

"Fi-?" He could barely speak and, when she slid her hand out of his and back onto her lap, it was as if she had struck him. "Fiona, please don't."

"Michael," she spoke his name again, sadly this time instead of frustrated. "You said it yourself, you just got back and everything has changed... But that didn't stop you leaving again, after saying you wouldn't -"

"I came back... I even left you a note this time," he added in a rush, desperate to show her that he was different this time, that this time he really was sincere.

"Yes, you did. This time… But what happens next time or the time after that? What happens when you leave and don't come back? How do I explain that to our child when I can't even explain it to myself?" A lone tear trickled down her cheek.

"That's not going to happen." He dropped onto his knees in front of her, his hands reaching out. "I'm not going anywhere, I promise. I mean it this time, I meant it in Panama. If things hadn't..." Mr. Westen let the words die on his lips. He had used that logic too many times to justify his actions.

Yes, the world got in his way all the time and evil people had plans for him he had no control over, but he was responsible for how he dealt with that and his choices hadn't always been good. His friends and family had paid the price for his bad decisions. Well, no more...

The ex-spy squeezed her waist and stared directly into those wet, bright eyes, those haunting orbs that were the color of the Irish sea and that held his soul within their depths.

"I'm done with the CIA," Michael declared in a firm voice. "I'm done with endangering my family and I'm done with being used." When her fingers combed gently through his hair, he let his head drop onto her lap. "Please Fi. Give us this chance."

"Michael, stop..." Her voice trembled and nearly broke. "I believe you, I believe you. I know you mean it, but is this really about us, or is it about...?" Now it was her turn to cut herself off mid-sentence. "You're right, so much has changed and we both..." She sighed deeply. "Look, we're supposed to be having lunch with Sam and Elsa. They'll be wondering what's happened to us... Go and get changed, we'll have lunch and then talk about this more tonight."

With her hands urging him to stand up, her distraught lover slowly got to his feet, wiping at his face with hands that shook. He felt so tired and sick to his stomach. Pulling himself free, the weary ex-spy took two steps towards the cabinet holding his mother's supply of hard spirits, then stopped himself. He was not his father.

He glanced over to the redhead who was watching him through tear filled eyes. He would show her. He just had to convince her he wasn't about to give up on them or their child and, if that meant sitting through lunch at the Chadwick right now, then that is what he would do. He owed it to his best friend who'd had his back this whole time and, more importantly, he owed it to the woman he loved.

()()()()

Michael stared at himself in the long narrow mirror attached to the closet door. Freshly showered and clean shaven, he was dressed in a grey suit with a blue shirt which had been in a bag of his belongings Agent Bly had delivered to his mom's home.

Outwardly he looked like his old self. All his insecurities, all his darkness and paranoia were securely bottled up and hidden behind the calm confident façade of an experienced covert operative. Sucking on his bottom lip, he pushed down the last vestiges of raw hurt which was threatening to destroy the fragile image he was projecting and fell back on the only thing which had never let him down: his training. Shrugging his shoulders and then slowly rotating his head, the spy freed up the tension he was carrying in his upper body and turned towards the bedroom door.

He could do this. He could get through this meal. He could be polite and smile, because Fiona hadn't said no. She just needed convincing and if there was one thing he was very good at, it was convincing people to do what he wanted.

He managed to keep up that lie until he walked back into the lounge and caught sight of the woman he loved surrounded by an aura caused by the sunlight streaming through the open blinds. As soon as he set eyes on the lithe figure in the floating white dress, all thoughts of coercion and manipulation left his mind. What he wanted, it didn't matter. It never had where she was concerned. It was all about keeping her safe and happy.

"Shall we go?" Somehow he managed to get the words out without a tremor.

"I'll drive." She smiled back at him, twirling the keys to her new Hyundai on her finger.

After they had traveled in silence for several minutes, Fiona broke the quiet. "So, you never said. What did you think of the house?" she asked.

Swallowing thickly, the dark haired man took a moment before answering. "You were right, it'll make a great home." He saw the questioning look she sent him and continued, knowing full well she wouldn't just except his sudden change of heart. "I still think an island with only one road on and off, even if it is guarded, is a tactical disadvantage. But with the right security measures in place -"

"I was thinking more about which room we should use as a nursery." Her words caused his mouth to dry up along with his thoughts on what types of cameras and tripwires they should be purchasing. "The rooms at the back of the house overlook the back yard and would be in the shade in the morning."

"We have plenty of time to work out that sort of thing, don't we?" he managed to ask.

"Well, yes, but if we're going to be in this together, you're going to have to get involved in the decision making."

Mr. Westen hid behind an agreeable smile. He had complained to Sam back at the house about being left out of all of his girlfriend's plans for their future and his best friend had obviously relayed his complaints to the lady in question.

"I was thinking we should make the building secure before allocating sleeping quarters."

"Always the spy, Michael. I see some things never change." The humor in her tone took the bite out of her comment, but it still stopped him in his tracks.

He swallowed down the words that were about to tumble out of his mouth and instead turned slightly away to look out at the view from the side window. She wanted normal, he understood that. But they weren't a normal couple and never would be. They both had enough enemies to fill a medium sized phone book and that wouldn't change for the better with the arrival of a baby.

That was what he had been about to say; however, he had more sense than to hit her with that piece of reality right then. Sighing softly, he concentrated on studying the reflection of her profile in the glass. He could make this work; he would show her he was capable of giving her the life she wanted...

Settling down into the leather seat of the sports coupé, the taciturn spy began to ponder on how he was going to protect the woman he loved and the child she carried.

()()()()

Sam and Elsa......

In the end, they didn't have lunch in the Chadwick's four-star restaurant. Because Sam Axe took one look at the expressions on his two friends' faces as they walked side by side into the hotel lobby and quickly spoke to Elsa about changing the venue from the public restaurant to the seclusion of the penthouse.

Whatever had happened, the older man concluded it had to have been pretty bad. He couldn't remember a time when he had seen his best friend looking so closed down. Even when Fiona had been imprisoned and later when Nate had been killed, on both occasions Michael had managed to find a way to carry on and keep fighting. But now the spy just appeared to have given up.

And as for Mikey's little spitfire of a girlfriend, she didn't look to be doing much better, though by the bright, fixed smile and the poorly played carefree attitude, she was at least trying to make a show for the benefit of their friends.

"This has to be like when you had kids of your own..." the older man mused while he ran a hand over his freshly shaven chin. "You can give them all the good advice in the world and they still manage to mess it up."

As much as the former SEAL wanted to help the couple with their poor relationship skills, he was fresh out of ideas. Besides he was already tap dancing as fast as he could, trying to salvage his own love life after Hurricane Westen had blown through the first time.

After he had left Michael at the loft, Sam had driven back to the mansion on Star Island. All the way he had been on his phone, arranging with the jewelers to hand the ring over to Madeline and then talking with Marco, the Chadwick's chief chef, as there was no way he was going to be able to have a face to face meeting with the talented Frenchman to discuss the evening's menu without giving the game away.

Unfortunately, he had still been on his cell, this time to Maddy, when he had walked inside his girlfriend's magnificent home.

"- back home soon. Just make sure you -" and that was when he had come face to face with his beloved as she had started down the wide sweeping marble staircase. "I gotta go. Call me later."

Guiltily putting his phone away, he'd flashed the love of his life a killer smile and then given her a swift peck on the cheek.

"Hi baby, I've missed you." Then, of course, that moment his mobile had begun to ring again and, as he was expecting the lady from the florist shop to be calling him back, he had no choice but to take the call.

So, with an apologetic smile the former naval commander had taken off up the stairs with an "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I gotta take this. Give me ten minutes and I'll be ready to roll" and a prayer on his lips.

Of course that hadn't been the end of it.

Big Momma had walked in as he was having a whispered conversation about the best place to park at the Merrick Mall, because as Maddy had put it, "I'm not a young woman, Sam. I can't be running all over. If you expect me to get back to your lady friend's place before two o'clock, then I need to know which end of the mall to leave my car at."

"Something going on, Sammy?" his beautiful girlfriend and hopefully soon to be fiancée had asked as he'd hurriedly ended the call.

"No, sugar... Hey, how about sharing some of that sweetness? Come here, baby…" He was not ashamed in the least to admit that he had fallen back on his boyish charm to put an end to his lady's suspicions.

And now, after a lunch filled with awkward silences and the worrying sight of Michael Westen knocking back neat scotch as if it was water, Mr Axe was beginning to wish he and Elsa had stayed at the mansion on Star Island, wrapped in each other's arms enjoying some more afternoon delight.

Pursing his lips, the ex-SEAL waited until his best friend left the table, which had been set up on the roof top terrace, and then turned to the red head, who was in an animated conversation with his own girlfriend about color coordinating the drapes with the carpet in what was going to be the master bedroom in the Palm Island house.

"Okay, Tinkerbell, what happened to playing nice?" he interrupted the debate over warm versus cool colors.

"Sam -" Elsa raised an eyebrow at the tone of voice of her beloved was using.

"It's alright, Elsa…" Fiona put a hand on the other woman's arm. "I'm trying, Sam. But it's not always easy with Michael. You know how he gets when things don't go his way."

"Just... Look, whatever is going on between you, go easy on him. Remember, baby steps, Fi... you know...baby steps?" Sam chuckled lightly at his own joke. "Let the guy remember how to swim before you toss him overboard. Can ya do that? Cuz if Mikey gets stressed out and goes off stealing boats and breaking into houses again, Bly is going to throw his ass in a deep dark hole until after the congressional hearings have finished and you know how long all that political crap can go on. Is that what you want? Mikey might be back in time for junior there to start school."

"Fine, but you should be having this talk with him." She looked over at where her wayward lover was returning to the rooftop from the restroom and pasted a smile on her face. "Michael, how are you feeling? Are you ready to go?"

"No…" Elsa got to her feet. "You should both stay here. Michael is in no condition to drive and you need to take things easy." She levelled a look at the younger woman. "Remember, doctor's orders? Stay here tonight; it'll probably be more relaxing than at Michael's mother's."

"I'm not sure-"

"I'm sure," Ms. Dearborn cut her off with a sweet smile of her own and a glint of steel in her brown eyes. "I'll go and explain it to Michael. Why don't you and Sam finish up here and we'll meet you inside."

Mr. Axe grinned at his lady's retreating back. If she could take on Bill Crowley and the entire intelligence community, then straightening out one wayward, overwrought operative would hopefully be a cakewalk.

Now he just had to deal with his trigger happy girlfriend who'd suddenly morphed into Martha Stewart. 

"So Fi, what's with the sudden interest in soft furnishings? I didn't think your interests stretched any further than gun safes and cooking up home-made C-4."

Ten minutes later, Sam was walking towards the private elevator with Elsa hanging on to his arm. His friend was sleeping off the three… or was it four… large scotches he had knocked back and Fiona was going to take a relaxing swim in the roof top pool. Glancing down surreptitiously at his cell phone, his heart skipped a beat. He'd just received a text message from Maddy to say that she had left the ring with Elsa's housekeeper, who was going to leave it in the sock drawer of his walk-in closet.

The ex-SEAL had done his level best to make sure his evening would not be interrupted again and all his last minute recruits had performed their tasks with clockwork precision. He had a good feeling about this.

Operation Big Momma's Big Day was a go......

()()()()

The sun had finally set on what could only be described as a very long and trying day for Sam Axe. Far out at sea, a storm raged, lighting up the sky for miles around with a magnificent light show made up of the spectacle of multiple fork lightning strikes blazing against the blackening of the sky and the various shades of red and pink in the fast moving storm clouds racing along the horizon.

Red sky at night, sailors' delight...

Sitting in a large hot tub filled with bubbling water, the former commander rested his head back, watching natures light show with a big silly grin on his face. Yes, definitely a delight... She had said yes...

It no longer mattered that all his carefully laid plans had fallen to pieces, thanks to his highly strung best friend and the hormone fuelled Irish pixie, who he hoped were now busy making up all their differences in the penthouse suite of the Chadwick Hotel. Because Elsa Dearbon had said yes when he had finally gotten down on one knee and presented her with the ashoka cut diamond and sapphire engagement ring.

Reaching out along the edge of the tub, Sam curled his large hand around the delicate stem of his champagne glass. Raising the half full flute of Armand de Brignac Brut gold to eye level, he sent a silent prayer that his best friends had finally managed to sort out their differences and their night was going as well as his own.

"Sammy…"

At the sound of the breathy feminine voice calling his name, the military man turned his head to stare across the patio to the open pair of French doors which led into the master suite.

Elsa, his beautiful Elsa, stood framed between the two glass doors staring back at him. Then, once she was sure she had his full attention, she raised an slender hand adorned with the large but tasteful engagement ring and, with the flick of two elegant fingers, sent the towel which had been wrapped around her body to the Italian tiled floor.

"Sorry about the wait. I wanted to make sure the all staff had gone home." She strutted slowly towards him, her hips swaying enticingly as she spoke, letting him drink in every inch of her naked form. "And then I thought I'd take the time to slip into something more comfortable."

Sam couldn't take his eyes off the woman who now stood towering above him at the edge of the sunken hot tub. Elsa had taken her luscious brown locks down from the classic up-do she had worn early and reapplied her red lipstick, giving her very kissable lips a sultry pout. But none of that was what really what held his attention.

She kicked off her silver Chanel shoes and instantly lost four inches in height. Then, as he wordless held out his hand to take hold of hers, she lowered her shapely naked body into the warm water beside him.

Nature's fury as displayed out in the Atlantic faded to nothing as the woman of his dreams began to kiss him and her lips, which were usually so soft and yielding to his desires, were hard and demanding as she took charge of their lovemaking. When her hand slipped below the water and she began to growl into his ear all the things they were going to do that night to celebrate, he completely surrendered control.

And so began the very best night of Commander Samuel Axe's long and illustrious life.

()()()()

Michael & Fiona......

He was back in Mumbai, the long reverberating roar echoing through his head so much like the sound of a distant carpet bombing, confused him. Maybe it wasn't India… There were so many places when he'd ducked down as explosions went off around him. Afghanistan? Iraq? Ireland?

Michael sat up sharply, his right hand reaching for the gun which should have been under his pillow as his eyes desperately sought out the source of the noise which had woken him. He flinched and rolled off the couch, gasping as he continued to try and work out where he was and what was going on.

As his senses slowly returned, he felt the remnants of a wicked hangover raging at the back of his skull. A fragment of a memory, of small hands holding out a couple of white tablets and a large tumbler of water, flitted through his brain and mingled with the disgust he felt at himself. He was not his dad. He was not going to deal with his problems like that anymore.

Moments later, a brilliant flash of light lit up the night sky and long jagged forks of lightning reached down to the sea. It was then he spotted Fiona standing out on the balcony, watching the storm which was raging miles away out over the ocean. Slowly getting to his feet, Michael walked out to join her, his approach masked by the deep booming rumble of thunder which followed the light show.

"Hey…" he called out softly, not wanting to startle her.

"Hey, yourself…. Are you feeling better now?" She turned to face him, leaning back against the waist high wall, her long hair blowing wildly in the strong wind. The storm would make landfall soon, he was sure of it.

"I'm sorry, Fi. I -" He was reaching for her before he even reached spot where she was along the balcony.

Her hand came up, one finger touching his lips, halting his words as soon as he was within her reach.

"It's me who should be apologizing to you... I – Sam told me how hard this last job had been on you..." She moved her hand, letting her palm ghost over his cheek, and he leaned into her touch. "Ya smelt like a brewery and ya looked like ya had fallen under a truck tha very first time I saw ya at tha house. I shoulda known then how difficult it must have been fer ya, pretendin' ta work fer thot bastid Card... I'm sorry an' jus' so ya know, I'm gonna kick Jason Bly's ass up around his ears fer not givin' me any warnin' ya war comin' back ta me..."

That got a slight upward twist of her lover's mouth. That was the Fiona he knew and loved.

"Am sorry, Michael..." She faltered and blinked back the moisture. "But I wa' so angry an' hurt when ya ran away from me. I dinnae know whot ta think an' then ya war gone again when I woke up this morning, I thought ya had-"

Her voice broke before she could finish and then he stopped her words with a kiss, his arms drawing her in as if he was never going to let her go.

"It doesn't matter, it's over now. Everything else will work out you'll see," he mumbled into her ear. The smell of her was all the intoxication he needed as he nuzzled her neck.

She drew a stuttering breath and tried to compose herself. "How can you be so sure? You said it yourself. There are hearings, you could still go to jail and even if you don't, you know the CIA will never let you go."

He loosened his hold just enough so he could look into her tear stained face. "I promise I won't leave you. I can't prove it, but you know if I set my mind to something, I get it done. There is nothing they can say which will make me leave you again." He paused, thumbing a stray tear off the end of her nose. "And if they try - I won't let them."

"You say that now…." She sniffed sadly, burrowing her face into his shirt.

"I mean it," he replied firmly. "I only have one mission now. I will do whatever it takes to keep you and our baby safe and happy. You're all that matters to me now."

He rested his chin on the top of her head and closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling of being one. Swaying gently, they listened to the thunder slowly getting closer. He had no idea how long they stood wrapped in each other's arms, kissing and talking as the storm raged in the back ground.

It was only when the first heavy drops began to fall on them that he reached down and then lifted her up, cradling her against his chest and carrying her inside to their bed for the evening.

They didn't need any words, staring into each other's eyes as they stripped away the layers of clothing separating them, the soft touches and chaste gentle kisses slowly bringing them closer and closer together.

He loved the woman before him with everything he possessed, heart and soul. The softness of her skin, the sleek powerful muscles underneath, the way her hair fluffed out from the dampness of the rain and the static of the oncoming storm...he adored everything about her. But as much as he loved what he saw, if it was possible, he loved who she was more, the maddening, intoxicating, unpredictable, fiery, passionate and occasionally painful person who completed him in ways no one else ever had.

Deepening the kisses, their tongues danced and glided in a well-rehearsed ritual, but this was nothing like the many times before. As they fell back onto the bed, there was no battle for dominance, no blazing heat filled passion, only a sweet reunion of two halves that had desperately been missing the whole. Their bodies came together effortlessly, their familiarity, their history and their love letting their souls to come together as well, allowing them to find some peace between them as they found their release in one another.

And as they lay entwined in the darkness, the former spy felt a catharsis of his soul, as if all the pain and confusion which filled his life had been drawn from his body and the warmth of hers seeped into all those places that had been so cold…

"Marry me, Fi." He stroked his palm over his lover's brow. "Please, Fiona."

She shifted around until they could see each other's eyes in the dim light. "Michael, I don't want you to do this because you think you have to or because of the baby...I want you to want to be with me."

"I do, you know that. I don't want to be with anyone else, I never – It was always only you..." He swallowed thickly and then chose his words carefully. "This isn't what I expected and I certainly never planned that we would... not in my wildest dreams... but the thought of being with you, of us being together...you and me like you said... that was the only thing that kept me going while I was..." He then laid a hand gently over the swell in her stomach. "This was just an unexpected... bonus."

Michael gave her a watery smile before kissing her tenderly.

"Then I'll marry you, Michael Westen." She grinned up at him with moisture filled eyes before kissing his chest, followed by his chin and then his mouth.

Michael didn't know how to take the feelings of happiness that centered in his heart and spread throughout his body as he tucked the woman he loved, the woman who had agreed to be his wife, into his side and squeezed her tight. But as the storm over the Atlantic slowly dissipated and the waters calmed, so the spy who came in from the cold was finally at ease as well, having let all the worries for tomorrow go and allowing himself rest in that moment of contentment at long last.


	31. Pas de Deux

Fiona Glenanne slowly woke from a deep and very pleasant sleep. The large luxurious bedroom, which had been in darkness when she had finally fallen asleep, was now dimly lit with streaks of bright sunshine shimmering across the room from the gaps in the blinds. The soft breath of her recently returned lover caressed her neck and the comforting weight of his arm resting over her waist drew a smile to the Irishwoman's lips as sweet memories of the night before filled her mind. Shifting in the bed, the newly engaged Ms. Glenanne rolled over onto her side to face the man she loved and had thought she had lost.

It must have been the slight dipping of the mattress which alerted the hyper-vigilant spy. Because as she turned to face her lover, she felt him tense and, as she gazed upon his face, his eyes flew open and he half raised up as if searching for an unseen enemy.

"Fi?"

"Shhh…" she whispered, tenderly stroking his stubble covered cheek. "Shhh, I'm here, you're safe, Michael. Go back to sleep. You're safe."

She watched as the tension left his body. His blue eyes slid shut and he sank back into unconsciousness without uttering another sound. Whispering reassurance and comfort, she continued to caress her lover's cheek. His breakdown the night before and subsequent outpouring of emotion had finally convinced the Irishwoman that the normally stoic spy had, as Sam had been saying all along, truly reached the end of his tether.

She knew all about post mission paranoia and how tired being on constant alert could leave a person. Moving her hand from his cheek, Fiona began to gently card her slender fingers through his short black hair, smiling when he failed to respond to her touch.

This was another big step in the right direction. She had told him he was in a safe place and, from his lack of response, it was clear that he again trusted her to watch his back while he slept.

The sound of soft footsteps coming from the other side of the bedroom door drew the redhead's attention away from her sleeping lover. Slipping out of the bed, Fiona found a long silk dressing gown laying over the back of a chair and went to investigate the source of the noise.

"Miz Fiona, good morning. I hope I didn't wake you." Marisol, the middle aged latina who looked after the large apartment, greeted her from the open plan kitchen.

"Good morning, Marisol," Fiona answered, remembering the maid from her previous stay at the penthouse. "No, you didn't wake me. What time is it?"

"Nearly ten o'clock, miz... Mrs. Westen called earlier and left a bag for you and Mr. Westen." The maid entered the lounge carrying a tray laden with fruit and a bowl of Fiona's favorite cereal plus a teapot, a small jug of milk and a little bowl of sugar. "Will you be eating outside?"

"Yes, outside," Fiona answered without looking up from the task of unzipping the bag Madeline had delivered. She smiled, seeing clothing for both her and her fiancé inside. It seemed Michael's mother had joined in the conspiracy to give them some quiet alone time.

Leaving the bag where it was, the petite woman followed the domestic help out onto the wide roof top terrace. "Marisol, Michael is still resting and I don't want him disturbed. So, can you make sure the fridge is stocked with—"

"Mr. Sam left a message for the kitchen to be stocked with blueberry yogurt."

Fiona smiled. Yes, there was definitely a conspiracy taking place. "That's fine then. Thank you, Marisol. We'll call you if we need anything."

Once she was alone, Fiona took a seat under a large yellow sun umbrella and reached out to pour herself a delicious cup of Irish tea. It was as she took her first sip of the hot sweet brew that a shiver ran up her spine when, out of nowhere, she got a sudden glimpse of the enormity of the task ahead of them.

She had never believed Michael would be willing to show the level of commitment he had done the previous night. It brought tears to her eyes as she thought about her future, their future as a family. Neither one of them had a clue how to raise a baby or had lived without the threat of a bullet or a bomb hanging over their heads.

She had been born during the worst of the Troubles in Northern Ireland and, by the age of fourteen, she had been as skilled as any adult paramilitary on the streets of Belfast. Michael's upbringing had been far from conventional with a drunken bully for a father and withholding manipulative mother. He had stolen his first car by the age of nine and was providing for the family by stealing groceries while he was still in grade school according to that same woman.

Taking a deep breath, she let it out slowly in an effort to calm her hormone fuelled emotions. She was a Glenanne, she sternly reminded herself. There was nothing she couldn't do once she set her mind to it. One hand settled over the slight baby bump. This was just a wonderful new challenge for them. Staring down at where her left hand splayed out over her abdomen, her blue green eyes settled on the Asscher cut diamond on her third finger. Just one more bump in the road, so to speak, she grinned at the thought.

They had a lot to talk about, a lot to work out, but they would be doing it together and that was all she had ever wanted.

()()()()

Michael woke up with a sudden start, his eyes flying open. He sat upright and looked around, taking in his surroundings and only relaxing when his brain finally caught up with his hyper alert senses. Rubbing a hand over his tousled hair, the former spy gradually relaxed. He knew where he was and he had pleasant memories of what he had been doing before he had fallen into a deep sleep, which for the first time in a long time hadn't been filled with nightmares.

Getting to his feet, the dark haired former spy slipped into his crumpled suit pants and went over to the large window to peer through the slatted blinds out on to the wide terrace. Squinting as the bright sunlight hit his eyes, Michael frowned when there was no sign of his new fiancée outside.

Glancing back to the bed, his heart thudded in his chest. His first thought being that he had an urgent need to find the woman he loved. But that feeling was quickly replaced by a second and far more pressing problem. The clock beside the bed showed it was just past mid-day and he had missed yet another appointment with agent Bly.

With memories of how unpleasant the previous days meeting had gone, Michael frantically searched for and then found his cell phone. Sitting back on the bed, he called his CSS contact, silently praying that the man still retained some goodwill towards him.

"Michael Westen, so nice of you to call and what is your excuse today?" Jason Bly answered his call with sarcastic good humor.

"I'm sorry, Bly. I overslept," Michael admitted, closing his eyes as he waited for another lecture on his lack of professionalism.

But instead of getting berated, it seemed that Bly was in an understanding mood. "Well, I hear those beds in the Chadwick Penthouse suite are something special... Don't worry about it, Michael. I know where you are. Just don't leave without speaking to me first."

"What if I have -" If Fiona wasn't in the suite, he was going to have to leave to find her.

"You remain in the penthouse. I don't care what the reason is. I'll be coming up to see you later. I have to go through your report and then take you through the questions you're probably going to be asked before Bill Cowley has his aides go through the whole thing with you again later in the week. Frankly, I can't think of anywhere more secure that doesn't have bars on the windows than where you are now."

"Is there a problem?"

"No, no, not as such, it's just somebody was delaying this case and now, all of a sudden, I get a call to say they're moving it forward and I've got seventy two hours to hand over all my files to the IOC."

Michael bit down on his lip. Any fool could see that this sudden change was a problem. "And you don't see this as an issue? You need to find out whose pulling the strings. What has Bill Cowley had to say about-"

"Michael, do you remember that deal we made? The agreement you signed? Well, let me remind you of what I consider one of the major highlights. After this hearing, you're out, free and clear… You are just one witness, a very important witness yes, but just one of several. Let me worry about the rest. Now stay put... Actually consider it more like house arrest. You step one foot out of that penthouse suite and you'll get to spend the next couple of weeks in federal prison and I'll personally escort you to the committee rooms each day in handcuffs. How does that sound?"

It sounded like a pain in the ass… 

But he still found it difficult to put his trust in another, especially over something as important as this. However, instead of voicing his complaints, the ex-operative sighed heavily. "I'll be here waiting for you."

"A good decision, Michael... I'll speak to you later."

Mr. Westen stared at his phone.......... As a spy, your job is intelligence. Whether you're after national security secrets or operational information about the people who destroyed your life, the job is the same.

He had just been told there was somebody out there, somebody with enough power to change the timing of an extraordinary congressional hearing and every fibre of his body urged him to get up, get dressed and, regardless of the consequences, leave the penthouse to find out what was going on.

There's no greater satisfaction than that moment you finally get the answers you're looking for. And nothing is harder than stepping back and letting somebody else take over your hunt for the truth.

The former covert intelligence officer tossed his cell phone on to the bed and, with an angry snort, got to his feet. He had new priorities, he had made promises and this time he wasn't going to break them. Pausing at the door, the dark haired man hesitated just for a second. This was more than a big step for him; this was like stepping off the edge of a giant chasm. Taking a deep breath, Michael opened the door and walked through to begin his search of the penthouse for the woman who was now and forever his first priority.

()()()()

Fiona moved swiftly through the water in Elsa's rooftop swimming pool with long strong strokes of her arms, enjoying the feeling of weightlessness and the heat of the sun warming her bare back. She had checked on Michael an hour earlier and her lover had still been completely out of it. So she'd decided she would give him another hour and then wake him up in time for some lunch. Besides, as the sun had risen higher into the sky, the pull of the clear sparkling water in the large rectangular pool had proven too strong to resist.

After completing one more lap of the pool, the petite redhead looked up and gasped. There was Michael standing above her on the deck, wearing a pair of swim shorts which had been in the bag Madeline had delivered to the suite.

"You're awake," she quipped as she smiled up at her fiancé.

"And you're naked…" He looked down at her, admiring the lithe body which appeared to be shimmering under the water.

"We're completely alone and nobody can see." She teased him by lying back in the water and, with a powerful kick of her legs, swimming a short distance away on her back.

She laughed lightly as he looked away to scan the surrounding area, doing his own check as to the privacy provided by the being on top of one of the highest buildings on the sea front and surrounded by strategically placed plants and bushes.

"Honestly, Michael," the auburn haired temptress chided. "If you'd heard some of the things Elsa told me about what she and Sa—,"

"Nope!" He held up a hand, not wanting to know what the hotelier and his best friend got up to in private. "It's okay, I believe you." He sat down on the edge and then, after taking another scan of the horizon, dropped into the water, quickly swimming over to her side.

She laughed and playfully struck out as she felt his arms snake about her waist and shoulders before surrendering to his touch and allowing him to draw her body against his.

"You should have woke me. And –" He gently wiped away a stray drip of water making its way down her nose. "Even though we're alone and I believe you when you say we're in a surveillance free zone, that doesn't mean Bly or any of his men couldn't just turn up unannounced."

"They would have to get past Marisol first. Trust me, Michael, if anybody attempts to storm the elevator, we'll get plenty of warning." She placed a light kiss on his chin and, when that didn't improve his humor, she nipped his bottom lip, followed by his earlobe. Then just to be sure she had his undivided attention, Fiona dragged her thumbnails across his nipples before throwing herself back and swimming away as fast as she could.

He gave chase just as she knew he would and, for a few short minutes, they twisted and turned, their limbs tangling in a mock battle, their game only coming to an end when her slender hands found the waistband of his shorts.

"Fi– Fiona, no– I-" he protested, his fingers gripping her wrists to stop her assault on his swimwear.

"Is thot any way ta talk ta yar intended, Michael?" She grinned wickedly and changed tactics, tearing her arms free as she launched herself upon him, wrapping her shapely legs around his waist and her arms firmly about his neck. "I may have ta remonstrate wit' ya fer thot." She looked him in the eye and gave him a light peck on the lips.

But instead of returning her kiss, his expression turned serious and when he spoke, she began to wonder if, having had the time to sleep on his promise, he'd had a change of heart.

"Fi, st- stop, we have to talk." He maneuvred them both over to the side of the pool. "I wanted to tell you …" He swallowed and looked away.

"Have you changed your mind? Because if -"

"No! No, Fiona, please…" He held her close to stop her from trying to climb out of his arms and out of the pool. "No, no, I wanted to tell you that I spoke to Bly earlier. I called him because I missed checking in with him this morning." He took a breath and, as she waited for him to continue, she could see the apprehension in his eyes. "He told me the congressional hearing has been moved forward. I'm going to be spending a lotta time with him and some of Cowley's aides, going through my testimony, making sure -"

Fiona let out a long sigh of relief. "You're upset because you thought I would be upset that you're going to have to spend time with Jason Bly? I know he's a pain in the ass, but I'm not a twit, Michael. I know you have to finish this, that you'll have to go to DC, probably have to stay there for some time, too." She grabbed hold of his chin, digging her fingers into his jaw to ensure he was listening attentively. "But, when you come back from DC, swear to me it will be over and done with, for good. No more CIA, just like you promised."

She only released her iron grip when his hand came up and eased her fingers from his face. Turning her hand so it was palm down, Michael ran one digit lightly over the ring gracing her finger. Looking deeply into her eyes, he half smiled.

"No more CIA…" The ex-spy raised her hand and touched his lips to her knuckles. "I thought I made it very clear…" Another kiss... "You are my first…" His words were followed by another brush of his lips… "And only priority from now on."

Mr. Westen directed her hand onto his shoulder, while he trailed kisses up her arm and then onto her mouth, his lips sealing over hers in a deep lingering kiss. Time had no meaning to the couple as hands began roam over exposed flesh, lighting fires of passion wherever they touched.

Lost in the moment, Fiona moaned and threw her head back, exposing her throat to the man who was pressing hundreds of butterfly soft kisses over her chin and down her neck. Her fingers carded roughly through his wet black hair.

"Michael…" His name left her mouth in a whisper.

"Fi…" All of a sudden, he was no longer kissing her.

She could feel his muscles bunch and tense and he was no longer looking at her, but was instead scanning the skyline. A tremor ran through his body and, when she looked into his eyes, it was if her lover had been replaced by a hunted predator.

"I can't do this, not out here."

Biting down on her bottom lip, the Irishwoman tenderly drew the man she loved back into her arms. "It's okay we can go inside."

She knew what this was: post operational stress and two decades of spy training. It was a miracle he'd had the control to walk out in the open in nothing more than swim shorts.

"Come on, let's dry off, go see what Marisol has left us for lunch and go to bed."

He hesitated when she boldly climbed out of the pool, not even reaching for the silk dressing gown which she had discarded earlier. "Fi… Fiona... Bly is-"

"I told you, we'll get plenty of warning. Elsa has some very well trained staff. Now, I'm going to get some lunch and eat it in bed. Am I doin' it alone? Or d'ya intend ta join me, Michael?"

She turned away and sauntered off towards the suite, smiling broadly when she heard the tell-tale sounds of her fiancé leaving the pool and chasing after her.

Once she was inside the suite the auburn haired siren went straight through to the kitchen, unconcerned by the wet footprints she left over the tiled floor. Reaching the fridge, she flung open the door and leaned forward to examine the contents. She knew she was being terribly obvious. But she had learnt over the years that her lover, for an intelligent, highly adaptable man, could on occasion be incredibly dense.

"What do you fancy for lunch?" she added a little innuendo to the conversation and then gasped as a pair of strong hands gripped her hips and another very masculine part of his anatomy dug into her bare behind.

"You…" he growled out the one word, pulling her back and then turning her around so they were face to face. "I want you, Fi."

Tears sprung into her eyes at his words and the intensity he exuded as he gazed down on her. Swallowing, she tried to bring her hormonal fuelled emotions under control. But before she could speak, he was kissing her, his lips claiming hers as he reached behind her to close the fridge door.

This time when her hands reached for the waistband of his damp swimwear, he didn't stop her from sliding the last barrier between them down over his hips. As the wet cotton shorts hit the floor, he lifted her up into his arms, cradling her against his chest.

"Michael, wait," she ordered.

"Wh-?"

"I promised you lunch, remember?" Leaning away, the Irishwoman opened the fridge and quickly grabbed up the items she required. "There." She smiled and gave him a light peck on the cheek. "Now we can go."

"Are you sure?" He raised an eyebrow at the various bowls she had managed to balance on her lap.

"Positive." She beamed back.

Once in the bedroom, he lowered her gently onto the bed covers. "We're going to make a mess on Elsa's sheets."

"No, we're not," She informed him, as she carefully moved the food she had chosen out of the way, arranging the items on one side of the super king size bed.

"We didn't in Milan," she added coyly reminding him of the their time together almost ten years ago in the Italian city, two weeks in seclusion, two weeks spent almost entirely in bed, until Michael had eventually been called away by his CIA masters.

"D'ya remember those heady days when you wa' a carefree free spy leaving a trail of chaos and destruction whar ever ya went and I wa' an international criminal with a Interpol file so thick ya could use it as a doorstop?" As she spoke she drew him down onto the bed, encouraging him to lie down flat on his back. "Those were fun times, Michael."

"We'll have more-"

"Aye, we will…" She nodded her agreement. "But things will be different with a baby, demanding our attention day and night... an' wit' no more ghosts ta chase, how d'ya plan on spendin' yar days?" The fact that her accent was slipping from American to Irish and back again was a sure sign of how much her emotions were in charge at the moment.

"I -" He went to sit up, wanting to draw her into his arms to reassure her that he was fully committed this time. But she placed the palm of her hand against his chest and shoved him back.

"I – I believe you. I'm just having trouble showing it because sometimes... Am afraid yer jus' gonna have ta develop a thick skin, Michael." She laughed nervously. "Cuz I gotta tell ya, carryin' this babe is playin' merry hell wit' me temper."

"I hadn't noticed." He smirked and then flinched as she swung one shapely leg over the top of him to sit astride his hips.

"You'll have to ask your mom about it. She bore tha brunt o' me displeasure fer quite some time." She leaned over and removed the lid from a bowl of strawberries and opened a cup of blueberry yogurt. "But once she found out I wa' goin' ta make her a Granma fer tha second time, we hadda long conversation and war best o' friends again." She flashed him a toothy grin and held out a yogurt covered strawberry to his lips. "Eat up."

"You're going to feed me?" He asked before gently taking the strawberry from out of her fingers.

"Ya need ta rest and build up yar strength fer whot is ta come, me darlin' man." This time, when she offered him another yogurt covered strawberry, she held it between her lips.

"Wha'ever ya wan', luv. Ya know me, anyt'in' ta make ya happy." When he spoke as Michael McBride, her heart melted.

"Thot jus' earned ya a special treat." And she picked up the cup of blueberry goodness and drizzled it down her chest. "Eat up, thar's a good fella, befer I make a mess on these sheets."

For a while there was no talking, just light laughter and lots of kissing, licking and biting, which led on to a lot more interesting things. For now, the petite former terrorist was happy that her fiancé truly was going to keep his word to become an ex-spy and, for that, she was willing do to all she could to see he got all the rest and relaxation he needed before his final trip to DC.

And from this very promising start, in the time that passed, the former operative was indeed a new man by the time Jason Bly arrived to debrief his star witness. For once, a conspiracy against Michael Westen, a plot to ensure that he got the alone time he needed with his soon-to-be wife, couldn't have worked out any better.


	32. Memory Lane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Michael takes advantage of a lunchtime break during his debrief, Sam is spending his time taking a trip down memory lane in search of answers he thought he would never get the chance to learn. Meanwhile out on the wild Atlantic Ocean Jesse & Dani are on their last leg long journey back to the States.

When something goes wrong in the intelligence world, a scandal, a security breach, or just a failed operation, there is always a debriefing where the facts are sorted out. When those facts threaten careers and institutions, no one takes any chances. You're locked away until the process is over. All you can do is tell your side of the story and hope for the best and know no matter what you do, your fate lies in someone else's hands.

 

Being locked down in a luxury penthouse with the woman you love was far better than being held in a eight by eight cell inside a secret CIA prison, but even if the accommodation was of a far higher standard than Michael Westen ever expected, it only slightly lessened the mind numbing monotony of being forced to go over and over the details of the last year.

 

"Let me remind you once again what we're up against, Michael." CSS Agent Jason Bly's palms slapped down on the top of Elsa Dearbon's polished oak dining table. "Operations Chief Card's own department records, backed up by a whole stack of mission briefs, show that he sent Brady Pressman, yourself and your team to San Miquel on an assignment to look into the activities of the Panamanian drug cartels."

 

The ex-spy tried to his best to feign interest better than he had apparently been doing before.

 

"There are communication records confirming his original statement to investigating officers that you yourself called for the air-strike which killed Agent Pressman. There are satellite images of your attack on a team of CIA agents sent to bring you back to the United States, plus the statements from the surviving members of the Panamanian militia who were assisting in the operation telling a tale of your team's brutal attack on its squad. There is also a whole raft of carefully crafted intel that strongly implies you are in neck deep with the Zeyes cartel, that you personally handed a protected witness, Rafeal Montero, over to Romero Salazar and then attempted to blackmail your former training officer, the man who gave you a way to get your girlfriend out of prison."

 

Slumping forward, the battle weary spy rested his head on his arms and tried to cut out the sound of the other man's voice droning in his ears. This wasn't the first time in the last three days that he had heard one version or another of this same speech. He knew Bly just was trying to instill in him the severity of his situation, but that didn't make it any more palatable.

 

"Michael, are you listening to me? This is important!" A hand banged down on the table close to where his head lay. "I have to have your signed testimony to Congressman Cowley by nine AM tomorrow morning and this time next week we'll be sitting at a table facing a roomful of politicians and intelligence officers all with their own questions – and their own agendas."

 

Sitting up, the dark haired man leaned back in his chair and blew out a breath.

 

"I don't know what else I can say, Bly. It's been three days. I've answered all your questions. I can only say the same thing so many different ways." He turned his gaze to the large glass patio doors and his thoughts to the woman who was sitting out there, or maybe swimming in the pool, waiting for all the men in suits invading their space to leave them in peace.

 

"Really, Michael…? Your reputation says otherwise. Just look at it as another test of your abilities to win friends and influence people then, the most important test of your life."

 

"You don't need to remind me what's at stake here, Bly. This goes south and you end up with a black mark on your service record and I end up in a black site prison. What I can't see is how going over all this intel one more time is going to make any difference." The former operative turned his attention back to Bly and the small team of agents who formed his inquisitors. He was so sick and tired of all the intrigue. His eyes strayed back to the patio doors. There was only one person he wanted to be with, one person he wanted to listen to, and it wasn't the Counter Surveillance Service agent.

 

"Trust me, Westen, we need to make sure we've covered everything and it's all tied up in a neat bow. Because if we can't convince them that Tom Card is the villain in this little drama, then they'll be looking to cast someone else in the part and I'm willing to bet that Armani doesn't come in orange. Now, please, explain again exactly what happened after you captured Tyler Grey?"

 

And so it went on throughout the morning, as he once again went through all the details of how Operations Chief Card, the man who had been a trusted mentor, had slowly lured him into the trap that had been waiting for him in Panama and how he and his team had eventually made it back home.

 

"Ma'am, you can't come in here."

 

The words of one of Bly's flunkies broke through the malaise which was cloaking the ex-agent, halting his long winded speech on how, while escaping from the San Miguel militia, Tyler Grey had been killed in an explosion.

 

"I'd like to see you try an' stop me." And there she was….He couldn't help smiling up at her as she stared up at the officious looking man barring the door.

 

Her long auburn hair fell in loose curls about her bare shoulders framing her sharply defined tanned features while the blue of her floaty strapless sun dress enhanced the blue in her sparkling blue-green eyes, eyes which right that second were narrowing in annoyance.

 

"Okay boys, it's lunchtime, time for you to leave…. Now."

 

"Ma'am, we are conducting a highly classified interview."

 

"Agent Bly, you might want to intervene before your man there loses a few of his teeth," Michael stage whispered and then gestured with a slight nod of his head to where his Irish firecracker was preparing to send her right fist in the direction of the younger agent.

 

"Okay, stand down Langstrom." The older man took the hint, and then glanced at his wrist watch to check the time. "You win, Ms. Glenanne. We'll take a break for an hour."

 

He turned back to his star witness and scowled. "When I get back, I want to see some of that old Michael Westen can-do attitude. We've a lot to go over before I hand your statement and then you over to Congressman Cowley... Gentlemen, let's go and leave these two lovebirds to their lunch."

 

Fiona waited in the doorway until the last of the CSS agent's annoying little men entered the elevator which would carry them down to which ever one of the Chadwicks four restaurants the man in charge decided to try.

 

"Fi, you shouldn't aggravate the situation," the dark haired spy chided mildly, not really sorry at all that she had intervened.

 

"You looked bored," the redhead replied as she sauntered in his direction. "And I was getting hot."

 

Getting to his feet, Michael moved to meet his future wife in the middle of the room, his arm wrapping around her shoulders to draw her into a kiss. Closing his eyes, he breathed in her scent as their bodies melded together. Just having her so close was enough to throw off the cloak of indifference which had been clouding his brain throughout the morning interrogation.

 

"If you're uncomfortable outside I could ask Bly if you could leave the penthouse. I'm the one under house arrest; there's no reason you should be trapped in here too. You could go shopping. There's a mall close by, it's air-conditioned." He knew he was blabbering but he couldn't have cared less. Holding her close, staring into Fiona's blue-green eyes with the taste of her still on his lips was all that mattered.

 

"Shopping, mmmm... with half a dozen CSS agents tagging along. As tempting as that sounds, no thank you, Michael." Standing on her tiptoes, she planted a soft kiss on the tip of his nose. "I think I will stay here. At least that way I can keep an eye on you and run interference when I think you need a break."

 

Taking hold of his hand, she led him across the large open space towards the kitchen. "We have an hour… Let's get something and you can tell me all about your morning."

 

"My morning was – boring. More talk about what happened in Panama." The dark haired former spy caught up with his beloved and pulled her back into his arms, his lips seeking out her neck.

 

He wasn't sure why, but it was as if they had stepped back in time. Ever since they had reconnected and she had accepted his ring, it was just like back in Ireland when they had first got together. He couldn't stop thinking about her, in spite of or because of what lie ahead, and he certainly couldn't keep his hands off her.

 

Those hands were now splaying across her stomach, over the slight rise where their baby lay safely cocooned. The organization which had burned him was gone, the men who had killed his brother were in their graves…. all he wanted now was to be left alone with the woman who had captured his heart. His fingers then slipped lower as his teeth nipped at the lobe of her ear.

 

"Michael!" Fiona squeaked as she found herself being guided away from the kitchen and towards the bedroom. "You've barely eaten anything today. Don't you want something?"

 

His answering grin was wicked and sent a thrill through her.

 

"What I want is not in the frig," he whispered low and husky before sweeping her into his arms.

 

He carried her across the open floor place to their boudoir. Kicking open the bedroom door, he paused only long enough to ensure it was locked securely behind them before moving towards the bed.

 

Sometime very soon Jason Bly was going to whisk him away to DC. If he was lucky he would get to walk away from the Intelligence Oversite Committee hearing a free man. But it was just as likely that he would end his days locked away from everyone he cared about in Guantanamo or somewhere worse yet.

 

But Michel refused to think about that. Bly had secured his friends and mother's freedom and that was the best he could hope right now… He had far more important matters on his mind at the moment.

 

Kissing her soundly as he lowered her to the mattress, her lover felt all the tension of the morning drain away as his beautiful Irish siren wrapped her arms around his neck and returned his kiss with equal passion, a purr of pleasure escaping their locked lips as her nails scrapped along the back of his scalp.

 

This was just what he needed to get through this afternoon…

 

()()()()

 

And while Michael Westen was busy making memories with his fiancée, another couple was having a day they would never forget anytime soon.

 

Having collected its passengers off the rolling deck of the Soslangen, the white thirty three meter long Dehler yacht, Paddy Reilly, turned away from the Greenlandic trawler and, with its sails unfurled, began to pick up speed, cutting swiftly through the white topped turbulent waves of North Atlantic Ocean, heading as straight as an arrow for the collection of small islands off the north-eastern coast of the United States just over a half a day away.

 

Inside, sheltered from the biting cold and sea spray and out of the way of the yacht's small highly skilled crew, Jesse Porter and Danielle Pearce threw off their heavy cloaks and, at the urging of their host, dropped their bags onto the floor.

 

"Jamie an' Dolores Dolan? Pleased to make yar acquaintance. Derrick Finnegan's the name, ya can call me Derry. Take a seat, take a seat nar, don't be shy. Make yarselves comfortable..."

 

The tanned skinned, grey haired smuggler welcomed his latest clients warmly. His broad smile and friendly good humor only the faltered for a fraction of a second when he ran a critical eye over the two of them. But then in a blink of an eye, the cheerfully easy going smile was back in place.

 

"My, ya're a big lad, aren't ya? Say, tha pair o' ya look fair famished. Tis no fun livin' on a diet o' fish now is it? But thot's me cousin Gustav fer ya. I swear thot's all they ever serve up on thot old tub o' his... Har, give me those things an' I'll hang them up."

 

Having helped Dani off with her coat, Jesse slipped out of his own top layer and handed the garments to their host.

 

"He seems nice enough," the bald headed former counter-intelligence agent whispered into his companion's ear as the skipper of the Paddy Reilly continued with his endless chatter.

 

"So does a tiger when its purring…" the covert operative hissed back, her teeth barred in a false smile.

 

"Sit down now… I've got some honest to goodness Irish stew on the stove. Me mother's own recipe, one o' the few things I brought with me from the old country."

 

"That'll be lovely, thank you, Derry." Dani beamed even brighter at their elderly host while surreptitiously elbowing her partner in the ribs.

 

"Come on now, get yarselves comfy on tha couch. Ya can warm yar feet in front o' the fire. I'll be just two shakes o' a lambs tail." He gestured with the tilt of his bearded chin to the faux flame electric fire and the leather three-seater sofa positioned in front of it.

 

"Did you see the way he looked at us?" the dark haired woman hissed as Jesse pulled her down beside him onto the large overstuffed and very comfortable seats of the couch.

 

"I did," he admitted. It had only been a brief break in the old guy's charming demeanor but for two experienced spies that pause in the conversation had been enough to set both their spidey senses tingling.

 

"But right now there isn't much we can do about it. So, unless you've got the skills to sail this boat while I wrangle five armed men, I say we stick to our cover -" He stopped talking and plastered a big smile on his face as their garrulous host came through the door carrying a tray with two steamy bowls of deliciously smelling stew.

 

"Here ya are... No, no don't get up, ya can eat where ya are... Just mind yar hands. The bowls are hot." Balancing the tray with one hand, the elder Irishman dropped a napkin on each of their laps before lowering the tray to a level that they could take a bowl each.

 

"Eat up while tis hot. The lamb's fresh and you'll find tatties, carrots, peas an' I used a whole onion taa."

 

Jesse took a sip of the thick gravy and hummed his pleasure, then took a bite on a piece of lamb.  
"Delicious... Reminds me o' home," he added the lie with ease and an almost subtle bit of Irish lilt.

 

"I'm sure it does, sonny. Nothin' like a steaming hot bowl o' stew to chase away the cold, am I right?"

 

Derrick Finnegan removed a bottle from a small liquor cabinet built into one of the walls and began pouring a generous shot of brandy into each of the three cut glass tumblers he had placed on a nearby sideboard. "An' nothing like forty year old Napoleon Brandy ta add ta tha pleasure."

 

For a few minutes the only sound was that of the fugitive Americans enjoying their first hot meal in a week which didn't involve fish while their host sat off to one side in a chair which matched the couch, sipping appreciatively on his glass of fortified spirits. But Mr. Finnegan couldn't remain quiet for long.

 

"I came to Portland nigh on fifty years ago," the grey haired captain of the Paddy Reilly, began speaking, a hint of the lilting brogue of his childhood home thickening in his tone as he took a trip down memory lane. "I came over after a wee bit o' trouble back home, y'know how tis? I got caught up in a demonstration, one o' those civil rights marches which war tha big thing in the sixties."

 

He shook his head sadly while his guests feigned understanding of the past troubles of their alleged home.

 

"Well, this time things got outta hand. A coupla buildings got burnt to the ground an' two constables had thar heads bashed in. Long story short, I got tha blame fer one o' them Ulster boys losin' his life. 'pparently some nosy old cow watchin' from an upstairs window saw me throw tha brick which took tha sonuvabitch out. Caved in his skull, so tha coroner said an' before I knew it tha whole feckin'British army wa' at me mother's door. Well, I ran, ran clear outta Belfast and ended up sneakin' on ta a cargo ship leavin' Dublin an' never looked back."

 

The old sailor paused in his story telling to refresh his own and the glasses of his guests with another generous shot of French brandy.

 

"Over the years I worked on a fair few different ships, learnin' how ta pilot, until I could afford my own boat. I made even more money once I got into smuggling cigarettes in to tha States fram Canada. I've had a good life all things considered. I've gotta family, grandchildren, even a coupla a great grand kids living out on Cliff Island... Dougal nar, he learnt his lesson from what happened ta me, an' steered clear o' the cause. He studied hard an' went ta university ended up as an airline pilot. D'ya have any kids yarselves?"

 

"Uh, no," Jesse answered just a beat too late. "Not for a lack of trying though," he added quickly, earning a swat and a blush from the normally unflappable Agent Pearce and a booming laugh from his host.

 

"Well, me boy Dougal, he worked fer Aer Lingus fer a while an' then went ta work fer a freight company called Heavylift, 'til he hadda heart attack in '92. Only forty three years old and as good as put on the scrap heap." He sighed heavily and took a long sip from his glass. "But them's tha breaks I guess."

 

Jesse glanced at the slender brunette at his side and raised his eyebrows, unsure exactly what to say to the older man. The slight shrug of her shoulders indicated she was just as clueless as to what to make of him.

 

"Aye, aye, them ar' tha breaks..." he continued, filling the silence with the sound of his voice. Perhaps the solitude left the ship's captain in the habit of speaking to himself and they just happened to be there.

 

"Twas a little bit ironic really that he had spent all those years staying away from the cause and in the end it was those boyos who set us up fer life. It dinnae suddenly happen, ya know... It happened over nigh on a year, while he was still recuperating, taa sick ta get back in tha air at a time when he was afraid to answer tha door in case it wa' the bailiffs. Ya know how thot is…"

 

"Hey, we've all been there," Mr. Porter sympathized, though not quite for the same reasons.

 

" Nar, me boy, he got ta thinkin' about me and cousin Gustav and he came with the idea of using our unique skills ta make money, his flying experience, only short range mind, my sailin' skills an' Cousin Gustav as a middle man..." The elder Finnegan smiled, seemingly lost in his memories for a moment.

 

"From the first time we talked about it, I could see we were onto a winner. I thought to meself, while I'm making a whole lotta cash bringing in cigarettes, I could make a whole lot more o' tha green smuggling people, even having to split the profits three ways. Well once we got done talking, Dougal approached the Provo Executive Council and they agreed to help finance our little enterprise for a percentage."

 

It was about then that Jesse had become aware that the old man was staring at directly at him and that, while he had been making them feel at home and keeping their glasses full, the old coot had produced a handgun from somewhere and was now pointing it at them.

 

"So I'm wondering, why after twenty years of loyal years of service to the cause, the Glenannes would try to set us up?" The ten inch long barrel of the Desert Eagle XIX was centered on Jesse's chest. "Cuz if yer Jamie Dolan, I'll eat this whole yacht, mast, anchor an' all."

 

It's strange the things that come to mind when you're looking death in the eye. For Jesse, right at that moment, he could have sworn he heard the voice of Michael Westen whispering in his ear.

 

There are times in any spy's career when someone, somehow figures out you're not who you say you are. Usually the best approach is to just put on a good poker face and deny everything...

 

But before he had had a chance to speak, Pearce's hand had landed on top of his, linking their fingers together, as she cast him a sideways glance before answering the accusation.

 

"You're right, Mr. Finnegan. We're not Irish, but we mean you no harm," the brunette answered.

 

Jesse stared opened mouthed at the calmly spoken admission. What the hell was she thinking?

 

"I know I'm right, my dear," he agreed with an unsettling chuckle. "Dougal knew from the first time he set eyes on the pair o' you thot ya weren't who ya claimed ta be. But he wasn't about to call Seamus Glenanne a liar on his home ground..."

 

The weathered face was set in a scowl now and his eyes narrowed dangerously.

 

"So now, ya'll tell me what game ya're all playing... Or ya can go over the side an' I'll make a call to the executive council informing them there's been a terrible accident... It'll be real interesting to hear what they'll have to say about that."

 

"It's true our names aren't Dolan and we're not part of your Irish Republican Army." Jesse interrupted before Dani had a chance to reply. "But we made a promise to the Glenannes that we wouldn't tell a soul our real names or why we need to sneak home through the back door..."

 

Pausing he sighed and slowly moved the empty bowl off his lap and shifted his body slightly trying to get into a position where he could get to his feet quickly. "You obviously know the Glenannes, right? Do you honestly think they would do something that would harm your people?"

 

They watched as the older man wrinkled his brow as he thought about what he knew of the Glenanne family and all the rumors about what the head of that particular family allegedly did for the PIRA and what the consequences of getting things wrong would be for his whole family.

 

Then his thoughts went to the prodigal member of the family, the one whose actions were causing all the heat on the smuggling fraternity further south. "Is this to do with the girl? Fiona, was it? Are you tryin' to drag us into the mess she made with that lunatic Miller?"

 

"We can't say," Jesse patiently explained. He and Pearce were no longer holding hands. He could sense rather than see or feel her fingers slipping unnoticed behind her back, attempting to reach the handgun hidden under several layers of clothing. It was his job to keep the old dude's attention on him until his partner had a way of defending them if the worst came.

 

"Remember that promise I just told you about? Well, we're not about to break it, whether you decide to shoot us or not. All I can tell you is, if you finish your mission and get us home, that will be the last you'll hear from us or about this, ever..."

 

The tall former operative sincerely hoped that his partner was having better luck at retrieving her gun than he was apparently in convincing the old boat captain that not filling them full of hot lead was a good idea.

 

"C'mon you know it is the smart play, man. You kill us, you'll have to explain it to the PIRA and to the Glenannes and trust me neither one of those two groups is gonna be happy with you." He remembered how worried Seamus had been about deceiving his older brother. "Do you really want a pissed off Liam Glenanne comin' after you? Cuz from what I've seen, that dude has no sense of humor. D'ya really wanna be the one to tell him that you got in the middle of some family business?"

 

For a full minute the only sounds were those of the ticking of a wall clock and the muted crash and roar of the wind and waves outside the living quarters. Holding his breath, Jesse waited to see if he had managed to convince the PIRA's premier people smuggler that they weren't a threat and it was in his best interest to keep them safe and help them get home.

 

Then slowly the older man lowered his weapon. "I get ya to Cliff Island, get ya past the harbor master and that's it. The pair o' ya are outta me hair for good. Whatever mischief your up to, you're on yar own and none of it blows back on me or me kin?"

 

"You have our word, Mr. Finnegan… Derry…." Dani smiled up at their not so welcoming host as she brought her hand out from where it had been about to draw her own handgun.

 

"Glad to hear it... Now we'll be entering US waters pretty soon, so it is time to get the pair o' you out of sight." He grinned and chuckled. "This time, you're gonna have to put all your trust in me."

 

()()()()

 

"Sammy, I've got the brochures for the Maldives. I was thinking we'd spend two weeks there, a waterfront villa on our own private island with nothing to do but relax. What do you think?" Elsa Dearbon walked out onto the long waterfront terrace of her Star Island mansion, her eyes on the man laying topless on one of the two sun loungers positioned side by side looking out over the ocean.

 

Stopping behind her new fiancé, the slender hotelier leaned forward, her chocolate brown hair falling on either side of her lover's face as she nibbled on his ear, the sunshine revealing the red highlights of her loose mane. "Just you and me, alone, no phones, no internet…." she whispered. "No business meetings, no friends in need and most importantly no government agencies following our every move..."

 

Ever since her lover's proposal, the high powered business woman had set about finding the perfect location for their nuptials along with working with her PA to ensure any important business meeting coming up were scheduled around her plans for a three month break from what she classed as house arrest in South Florida.

 

"Huh, honey?" Sam squirmed as his lady love's free hand glided over his sun screen covered chest.

 

"Our honeymoon, Sam…." she pouted and moved around to sit down on the edge of the lounger. "Two weeks in the Maldives. Then a tour of Europe... I know the tour is partially business, but I promise I'll keep the meetings brief. London, Rome, Bucharest... Paris." Placing the brochures on his lap, she took one of his hands in hers. "Is everything alright? Is this about that call you got last night?"

 

For the last three days, they had been left blissfully in peace while Jason Bly concentrated on grilling Michael Westen in preparation for his appearance at a congressional hearing; however, last night that peace had been disturbed by one phone call and ever since then her Sammy had become distant, lost in his thoughts. She watched worriedly as her usually attentive lover pursed his lips, and frowned.

 

"It's nothing, sweetness. It's just -" He paused to cup her face, his thumb gently stroking long her cheek bone. "It's – well, Bly is hassling me about somebody from my past. Somebody who might have some intel which would help clear up this mess and, ahhhh…" He sighed heavily. "I guess thinking about it has kinna got to me."

 

"Do you want to talk about it?" She expected him to say no. Elsa understood his need for secrecy that his career as a SEAL and later working with his best friend, the spy, meant that a lot of the time it was safer for her not to know what was going on. But then Sam surprised her by nodding his assent.

 

"Yeah, it's been on my mind for a while now, ever since – ever since I got back that time from that close call in Everglades. I think now is the perfect time for us to talk." Getting to his feet, the former military man pulled her up and began to lead her back to the house. "Only I think I'm gonna need a drink first."

 

Ms. Dearborn followed him into the cool of the large spacious lounge decorated in the style of an Italian villa. This pensive, serious side of her lover was still relatively new to her and his grave expression was filling her with unease.

 

"Is it really that bad?" the brunette asked as she watched him go straight to the drinks cabinet and after pulling out two glasses, half filling one tumbler with bourbon and the other with a vodka and tonic water.

 

"Sorry, baby, I didn't mean to scare you." He handed her the drink and then, with the palm of his hand on the small of her back, guided her back out on to the patio and to the table and chairs where they had had lunch two hours earlier.

 

"So, who is this person that you need a stiff drink to tell me about them?"

 

It was where to start, that was the problem. Sam looked past his current lover with thoughts of his first lady love dancing through his head. Ever since Bly had brought up the subject of Rayna Kopec, he'd tried to keep his mind off the feelings her memories brought to the fore. He had successfully put that behind him for years now… or so he'd thought.

 

But with the CSS agent pushing that this was their best chance to walk away from this whole mess as free people who didn't need to look over their shoulders anymore, asking himself the question of who the former CIA station chief would have trusted with highly classified intel had inevitably led to taking a trip down memory lane.

 

Taking Elsa's hand in his own meaty paw, he rubbed his thumb across the engagement ring. At least thinking about Sandy had gotten him off his duff about popping the question to his special lady friend.

 

"She was the reason I finally had the courage to put that ring on your finger," he admitted, smiling softly at the puzzled yet patient look on the beautiful brunette's face.

 

His gaze was fixed on the ocean, but his mind was on Rayna Kopec, or Sandy as he had affectionately called her long after she had stopped using the legend Sandy Tomlinson and had renamed herself upon entering the CIA… the dirty blonde with her power suits and her unquenchable need to succeed.

 

He smiled wistfully as his first vision of her swam in front of his eyes: a muscular young woman, wearing skin tight jeans and a spaghetti strap tank top, her icy blue eyes narrowed in anger and her plain features set in a scowl as she'd taken offense at his drunken teasing, pestering her all night about what a great time she was missing out on by not getting to know him better. Eventually, it had been at the beginning of a friendship which had spanned over a decade, the night an underage bartender working in a San Francisco dive bar had thrown a freshly minted sailor out on his ass and yet he kept coming back for more.

 

Other images followed, the day they passed out of officer training school and later that night their first time together celebrating that same graduation. Later on, various hook ups, seeing her for the first time in her Shore Patrol uniform and then the day she informed him she was leaving the Navy to join the CIA.

 

Yeah, it still hurt a little that she hadn't trusted him with the information, but he knew what she'd been trying to do. She and Mike were just too damned much alike when it came to trying to protect people. 

 

Thinking about the pair of them set Mr. Axe to remembering the day he had walked into an office on the Airbase at Incirlik in Turkey, having rescued Mikey from a botched assignment in Chechnya. They had had quite the time getting his friend freed from the influence of Larry Sizemore. But as bad as that had been the next time when she had called him to babysit the same young agent now suffering for what she suspected was for the first time a broken heart after being extracted from Ireland had actually been worse.

 

Sam smiled weakly as he stared into Elsa's curious brown eyes while she waited patiently for his to explain his comment and wondered what his two best friends were up today and if they'd managed to kill each other or finally made up yet. "She was someone special to me… I thought we had all the time in the world to be together after we'd gotten done saving the world… but…we didn't…"

 

"Sammy?" He felt the soft touch of a hand on his and he turned his moisture filled eyes to the woman he loved. Sam swallowed hard, recalling the last time he'd seen Rayna, the reunion they'd had once Mike had hauled his butt out of a botched mission that had almost gotten him killed in Russia. It had been his former boss' doing that had sent the spy on an unsanctioned rescue to save him. It was the last time he'd seen her alive… the last time they had been together…

 

A deep well of sadness settled over his heart as he remembered how he had felt when he discovered she had been killed and the frustration which had nearly cost him his job when he had failed to convince anybody, including his best friend, that her death was more than collateral damage in a terrorist attack.

 

"Sorry, baby." He wiped away a stray tear and then he covered Elsa's hand in his other one, sighing heavily. "Her name was Rayna Kopec and she might have come up with the key to ending this back in the day. I just have to figure out who she might have given it too. But I'm sure it's what got her killed too."

 

Elsa listened as her fiancé talked with great affection and deep regret about another woman he had obviously loved very much. "I tell you she was like a bloodhound once she got on the scent of something. She would follow it wherever it led." He smiled and took a long appreciative sip from his glass of bourbon. "Mike might have been a Company Man through and through, but he had nothing on Rayna. She told me once that some jackass at Langley called her a den mother because she kept such a close eye on the rookies who came under her command."

 

"Was Michael one of those rookies?"

 

"For a while, but he was – " Sam paused, swallowed thickly then continued. "He was put on the fast track with another agent. They still worked closely, but –" He shrugged. There was no way he wanted to tell his lady about Larry Sizemore.

 

A memory flashed before him. Sizemore's voice crackling through a bug planted in his best friend's hospital room after his rescue from a Chechen freedom fighter's camp.

 

"I'm going back to my room. Just remember what I've said. I'm pretty sure Kopec isn't finished with you yet, so watch what you say and watch that temper of yours. Once we're both in the clear and we have those awards, I think the Ice Queen will have finally outlived her usefulness."

 

Ms. Dearborn watched in alarm as his expression morphed from melancholy reminiscence to almost murderous fury. The pieces fell into place and he was now certain he not only knew who Rayna might have passed the intelligence to, but he had also figured out who had been responsible for arranging her death to keep that information a secret as well. 

 

"Sorry, sweetheart," Sam apologized quickly. "But I need to make a phone call."


	33. The Calm

The Calm

 

Rising high up overhead, the mid-day sun sent rays of shimmering light across the luxurious penthouse bedroom floor and onto the king-size bed where Fiona Glenanne lay in post coital bliss, securely nestled in the strong arms of her fiancé.

 

Neither the auburn haired former gunrunner nor her dark haired lover wanted break the silence and ruin their all too brief peaceful interlude. Unfortunately, Agent Bly would soon be back with his team and his endless questions and she would find herself banished outside to keep herself entertained on the Chadwick Hotel's magnificent rooftop patio. But as much as she wanted to enjoy the intimacy of the moment, Fiona Glenanne was not one for remaining quiet for long when she had questions on her mind.

 

“So how're things really going? Has Agent Bly brought out the thumb screws yet?” She snuggled into her lover's side, wrapping one of her bare legs over the top of his equally naked limbs, her head resting on his shoulder.

 

“No thumb screws, Fi.” Michael pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head. “We're all on the same side now, remember?”

 

It didn't feel like they were all on the same side, Fiona thought bitterly. But instead of voicing her angst-fueled anger, she hummed softly while her lips trailed light pecks across his chest, tasting the thin layer of salty sweat from their earlier activities. Bly was an annoyance she would put up with because the CSS agent was their best chance at getting to live a life free from the CIA and any of the other alphabet soup of agencies wanting to dig their claws into the man she loved.

 

“Fi?” He shifted slightly, his over-strained senses picking up on her mood. The arm that had been cradling her to his side moved just enough so his fingers could brush up and down her arm in an effort to offer some comfort and reassurance. “This is all gonna work out. We have a good case. All we're doing here is crossing the t's and dotting the i's.”

 

“Is that so? Then what had Bly looking so fired up? The weasel looked like he was about to pound a hole in Elsa's dining table before I interrupted.”

 

“It was nothing.”

 

She knew he was lying to her from the way his fingers paused in their movement. Rolling over so she was looking him straight in the eye, the petite red head searched his expression trying to work out what was going on in that thick head of her stubborn lover.

 

“Michael, this is important. More important than anything else we've ever done... Now tell me what is going on? What have you done to piss off that arrogant arse?"

 

It was on the tip of his tongue to lie to her…. She could see it from the way he sort of looked through her instead of at her and the way he smiled, showing too many teeth to be sincere.

 

“Everything is Fi--” But then he stopped, seeing the fire simmering in her blue green orbs no doubt, and the smile faded. “I don't know… I'm trying Fi. I'm answering all his questions and I've written god only knows how many pages of testimony , but honestly I'm not sure if it’s going to be enough. There are some questions I just can't answer. Card hid his real accounts. I never got a chance to find out where.”

 

Now that he had started to give voice to his misgivings, it seemed to have opened a floodgate of doubt.

 

“We still have no idea where the guy I extracted from India has been stashed or what was on that thumb drive he brought with him... We have Olivia Riley dead of rights, but she could throw me under the bus just as easily as testify as to what Card was really up to… easier in fact...” He paused and shook his head in frustration. "We have a lot of circumstantial evidence; but, in the end, this case comes down to my word, as a former burned spy, against a highly decorated senior agent.”

 

“Too many loose ends?” she spoke sadly as her hand ghosted over his cheek. Then her mood shifted abruptly. “So you were lying to me just now when you said you were just dotting the I's," she huffed in irritation. Sitting up the bed sheets fell away, exposing her still lithe frame to the man at her side.

 

“Not lying exactly...” His hand captured her bicep, holding her in place. “I just don't want you worrying about things, Fi. You’re supposed to be relaxing, remember?” Michael offered her a half smile, but this time it was genuine. “We are so close to wrapping this up. I just wish we had a little more time to--.”

 

“A little more time... ya shoulda had those words tattooed on yar chest years ago.”

 

But her pique like her brogue lasted barely a second when the fiery redhead saw the haunted look in his misty blue eyes as he stared up at her. A moment later, she was leaning down to place a light peck on his lips. “I’m sorry,” Fiona said softly. “It there anything I can do to help?”

 

“You're doing it, right now.” His arms encircled her shoulders, pulling her down on top of him, his hot breath tickling her neck.

 

“Michael?”

 

“We have fifteen minutes left.” His lips and teeth continued their assault on her neck and throat, making her squirm on top of him in a way which was highly enjoyable for them both. “I'm already feeling more motivated to get rid of Bly and the CIA and you did just ask what else you could do to help.” 

 

His last word turned to a groan as the slender fingers and long nails that were scraping down his sides slipped even lower.

 

Worrying about questions he couldn't answer wasn't going to help anyone, Fiona decided. What her lover needed was a whole fresh approach to the problems facing them. 

Her teeth bit down on his shoulder hard enough to hurt but not to mark.  
And helping Michael Westen find a whole fresh approach was one of her specialties….

()()()()

 

Kimberly Danielle Pearce always thought one of her specialties was her ability to remain calm and clear headed in a crisis; however, being trapped in a small dark space on a smuggler's yacht out in the middle of the churning Atlantic Ocean was certainly putting a strain on her usually iron clad nerves.

 

“Tis not much more than a cubbyhole to be sure an' I'm told it isn't the most comfortable spot on board but everyone whose traveled this way has always got to where they were going.”

 

The captain of the Paddy Reilly, Derry Finnegan, one of a triad of traffickers in the employ of the Provisional IRA had pulled away several boards from the floor of the hold in his yacht to reveal a compartment which had looked barely big enough for two below average sized men to lie flat in, let alone herself and the six foot three muscular frame of a former CIFA agent whose broad chest she was presently pressed up against. 

 

“You okay there, Dani?” Jesse's softly whispered query came along with the light squeeze on her hand as the usually unflappable Agent Pearce sucked in a long shuddering breath.

 

“I'm fine, Jesse,” she murmured into the thick quilted material of his jacket.

 

“Not feeling sick, are you? I mean, you’re not gonna hurl on me now, right? Cuz that would be bad.” 

 

“Very bad,” she agreed with a smile that Mr. Porter could obviously only hear in her tone. “And no I don't feel seasick either.” It hadn't taken her long into their flight across three continents to work out that her partner in various crimes since leaving Mumbai talked most when he sensed her apprehension. “How about you?”

 

“Nah, I'm fine... Really…. You know, they need to get a ride like this going at Disney… Beats the hell outta Space Mountain…”

 

That was the other thing… Apart from the cold, damp and darkness, probably the worst of their situation was having to cope with the nausea inducing, completely unpredictable rise and fall of the fast moving yacht as it cut through the waves.

 

“I know I'll never look at a tin of sardines the same way..... So, how much lon – ger – – d-do you think we have to put up with this for?” The stutter in her voice came as the yacht seemed to make a sharp course correction, causing their compartment to rise up high and then come back down in a long sweeping stomach-churning motion and land with a spine jarring impact.

 

“Whoa! Okay, that was officially not fun, not fun at all….” As he was lying against the bottom of the compartment and his fellow agent was lying primarily on him, the younger man had borne the brunt of the abuse.

 

“I think our charming host said we were a half day out, so maybe another hour or so....” Agent Pearce remarked, answering her own question. “Think you can hang on that long?” 

 

“It's not like we exactly have a choice….Ow!”

 

“Sorry, let me –”

The sudden jolting movement when the boat turned had caused Dani's body to shift in the narrow compartment, causing one of her booted feet to scrape down Jesse's shin. As she attempted to maneuver in the tightly confined space, her fingers sought for something to grasp onto for leverage.

 

“Er, er, Dani – girl. Please.. You gotta know I'm not armed so, um, what your holding on to, that isn't a gun. Not a gun.”

 

“Oh! Sorry.” She snatched her hand away, thankful that in the darkness and at such close quarters he couldn't see her cheeks burning red.

 

“Oh I don't mind… just a little warning woulda been nice, that's all.”

 

She could hear the mirth in his voice and imagined that he was smiling down at her, his dark brown eyes challenging her to continue what she had started.

 

Did he really expect?....... Now her cheeks really were burning and she had never been more grateful for the dark. She was still getting used to being in a relationship, still trying to get her head around the idea that after so many years alone she had somebody in her life that she could love.

 

Pursing her lips, she made a second attempt to move, this time using the sides of the glorified cupboard as an aid in finding a comfortable position, she began to wriggle her way upwards when a set of strong fingers wrapped about one of her wrists.

 

“Please, for the love of god woman. Do you have any idea what you are doing to me?”

 

“Oh,” she froze in place, even though the thick layers of clothing she felt something stir between them. “I, I'm sorry. I didn't mean.” 

 

“Relax Dani... I'm, I think we can wait until we have a bit more room. Don't you?” And there was that deep chuckle again.

 

“Yes definitely.” She sighed into the warmth of the thick quilted jacket he was wearing to protect him from the cold and relaxed.

 

“You okay now?” 

 

“I'm fine, though I must admit I'm looking forward to being back in the fresh air.” 

 

“Me? I'm looking forward to a piece of rare steak, dripping in juices and a bottle of ice cold beer.” 

 

“I was thinking we could use some of that money Seamus gave you to get a room in the nearest four star hotel... Somewhere with a king size bed, eight hundred count linen and a full size bath.” She replied dreamily, her eyes sliding shut in the darkness the sound of her companion's reply lost to the steady soothing beat of his heart. It had been a long time since anybody had worried about her welfare...... It was, dare she even think it? It was nice.

 

She had made a promise to herself after her fiancé had been murdered that she would never put herself through that heartache again. The desolation caused by the needless death of Jansen Tunberg had very nearly destroyed her both physically and mentally. 

 

It had been Tom Card who had brought her back from the brink, the CIA's premier training officer's no nonsense approach to her breakdown reminding her of the noble cause both she and Jay had believed wholeheartedly in. 

 

It had to be a reaction to being locked in the dark for so long, because right then it was as if she was back in DC, sitting in Training Officer Card's favorite restaurant, she could swear she even smelt his cologne as he leaned over the table for two and gave her hand a sympathetic pat. 

 

“What I'm about to tell you.... it is something I teach my own students.... And I'm sorry that whoever it was who saw you through the Farm didn't give you this piece of advice. Love nothing and nothing can hurt you, my dear. It's a tough way to live, but I think you would agree, after all you've been through it is for the best, if you want to be out there in the field with the big boys that is.” 

 

Three weeks later she had made up her mind and turned down the desk job she had been offered working inside the Pentagon to return to the field and the career she loved, and for the next eight years she had followed Tom Card's advice. Remaining aloof to any overtures of anything more than friendship from colleagues in the agency and assets as the tools they were to complete her assignments. That was until the day Michael Westen had introduced her to his friend with the right security clearance to help out with a job in the Caribbean. 

 

It was a sudden bang as the side of the yacht collided with a solid object which jolted her awake, and then Jesse's hand lightly squeezing her arm which brought all her senses back on line. 

 

“I think we've reached home.” He spoke in a hushed tone.

 

“I -” They both went completely still at the sound of footsteps above where they lay, both holding their breaths and silently praying that this wasn't a custom and excise check. 

 

“You both still alive in there? Hang on a minute an' I'll have you out in two shakes o' a lambs tail.” Derry Finnegan's American-Irish flavored brogue had never sound so good.

 

“Thank you Jesus.” Jesse exhaled the breath he had been holding.

 

The boards above them came free with several loud cracks and Dani blinked up at the dimly lit hold before taking hold of the large calloused hand of their host. 

 

“Come on sweetheart up you come. I've got tea brewing in the pot and a half bottle of Irish single malt to chase away the cold.”

 

Before she had time to thank the older man, Derry had turned away to help pull Jesse out from the hidden compartment.

 

“Man, I thought riding in the back of Fi's Hyundai with Sam was bad enough.” The tall former agent slowly straightened up then pushed his shoulders back to arch his spine. “So what's are next move?” He asked the older man.

 

“It's just after two, you'll have to hang out on board, out of sight until it's dark. I've got some fresh clothes fer you to change in to, help ya blend in with the other tourists and some other bits and bobs we need to go over: your new IDs, keys and a parking pass, there is a car waiting for you in a Portland parking lot that sorta thing and then you keep your side of the bargain young fella. You and your lady friend catch the last ferry to Portland and we never see each other again. How does that sound?”

 

“That sounds great, doesn't it Jamie?” Pearce forced a smile to her lips as her well trained mind and the solemn oath she had sworn to protect her country from all enemies railed against the promise she made to Fiona Glenanne's family to keep their secrets now she had discovered the full extent of the security breech to her homeland.

 

()()()()

 

“I'll get cleaned up first, while you catch your breath.” 

 

Michael stared up at flushed countenance of his mate as she gazed down at him, her long auburn hair forming a tangled mane framing her sharply defined features. She looked so beautiful it was like a physical pain deep inside his chest when he said. “Bly will be here any minute for round two. Let me go first, then you can take your time. You could have a nice long soak in the bath.” He tried to sweeten the offer.

 

“I wish we could stay here all day.” She pouted slipping off him to lay curled up against his side, the flat of her hand resting on the taunt muscles of his abdomen. “Can you remember the last time we got to stay in bed all day?” 

 

“I can,” he nodded, “it's been a – while.” Over a year ago to be precise. “It'll happen again.... Soon... But not today.” He was back in spy mode in an instant talk of what they had done all those many months ago was not going to help him focus on the task of staying out of a black site prison. Pulling back the sheet covering their legs and in one smooth move rolled out of the bed and on his feet. 

 

“I'll get rid of Bly as quick as I can.” Quickly gathering up his discarded clothing Michael made his way over the en-suite, his mind already on the CSS team who were most likely gathering in the private elevator which would bring them up to the penthouse.

 

Once in the bathroom he began running the shower climbing under the water as soon as it ran hot. Washing as quickly as he could he was soon out and rubbing himself dry, his hand pausing as the towel went over the sore spot just above where Jesse had shot through him nearly two years ago and where a sharp set of tiny teeth had latched onto him less than five minutes ago. 

 

With a shake of his head he returned to the task of getting dry, he had no more time to think about what they had been doing, or what they might do later. Dammit, he needed to focus. He had to stop thinking about what he had to lose, and start thinking about everything he had to gain. 

 

If he was going to finish the debrief with Bly today, he needed to concentrate solely on the task at hand. Dropping the wet towel into the basket in the corner of the room he got dressed and then used a second towel to remove the moisture from his hair....   
Maybe he should ask Bly to let him take a run at Olivia Riley? He was sure that if he applied the right leverage he could convince Card's other protégé to give up all she knew.

 

“I told you I'd be quick.” He called out as he stepped out of the en-suite, and then came to a stop his eyes resting on the sleeping beauty laying tangled in the bed sheet with a contented smile on her kiss bruised lips. 

 

Creeping closer, he leaned forward and after he carefully arranged the sheet over her body he found himself unable to stop himself from reaching out to cup her cheek and then press a kiss to her forward.

 

“Michael.” Her eyes opened a fraction and one hand lazily stroked down his arm. “Knock 'em dead.”

 

“I'll do my best.” With one final kiss he walked out of the room his mind now firmly back in the game.


	34. Swimming into the Deep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This next chapter is very Sam-centric as we catch up on whose name came to the former SEAL while he was taking a trip down memory lane with Elsa at his side.

“Sorry, sweetheart, but I need to make a call.” 

 

Elsa Dearbon sat in stunned silence as the man she loved jumped up, his rugged features twisted in anger and then almost ran into the house.

 

“Sammy!” 

 

She half rose as she called out, but then dropped back into her seat as he disappeared from sight.

 

They had been talking, well, Sammy had been talking and she had been mostly listening as her lover had begun to speak about the woman he had loved and lost. Now it seemed reminiscing about Rayna Kopec had finally shaken loose the answers he had been looking for.

 

Staring towards the open patio doors, the slender hotelier resisted the urge to get back to her feet and go to listen in on the phone call taking place inside. She had really had enough of dealing with government agents and all the intrigue which went with them.

 

Unlocking her jaw, which she hadn't even realized she was clenching, Ms. Dearbon reached out for the remains of her vodka and tonic. The brunette took a deep gulp, emptying the glass in one swallow. All she wanted now was for everything to get back to normal.........

 

“Really Elsa, what do you see in Sam Axe? You should stay away from him.... The man is no better than a gigolo. A friend of mine, Angela Lincoln, she met him when she came down from New York a couple of years ago. He was involved in a bank robbery. Oh, well he wasn't “involved” in the actual robbery, but he had friends who were mixed up in it somehow.... Elsa, as one of your closest friends, I'm worried about you and this man. He's dangerous and the people he mixes with–– ”

 

Melissa Drury, one of her friends from the tennis club, had been one of the first but by no means the last to voice her concerns about friend's new paramour.

 

“You're going out again? Jeez, mom, don't you care? You're embarrassing yourself. The guy is a leech.” Her son, Evan, hadn't been afraid of voicing his dislike for the new man her life either.

 

“You should talk to Veronica Goldman,” had been the advice of another friend. “She was planning on marrying him until she discovered he was already married.”

 

She hadn't been fazed by the gossips at first. After all, she wasn't as naïve as everyone seemed to think she was; by the time they were going on their fourth date, she'd already had the head of her security run a check on the new man in her life. David Geary had reported back with nothing that she didn't already know: Sam Axe was a ladies man and he had no discernible income apart from what he earned as an unlicensed private investigator and bounty hunter along with a woman called Fiona Glenanne.

 

But none of that mattered because the retired SEAL had come along at a time when she had been feeling particularly lonely. His old world charm along with his matinee idol looks had been a refreshing change from the men her friends had tried to set her up with......... So what if he was a little rough around the edges? He was also fun loving and made her feel wanted.... 

 

And she couldn't deny it had been a little exciting when he had given her a glimpse into his world..... Borrowing her home to help catch a medical fraudster, returning to her worn out and a little battered and bruised with tales of fighting Serbian mobsters, or rescuing a child from an armed militia out in the Everglades.......... Or helping to straighten out the wayward son of a wealthy hotelier....

 

She smiled softly at the memory of the man she was beginning to fall in love risking his own life to rescue her reckless son from a criminal lifestyle. Evan was doing so much better now. He was back in school, this time studying mechanical engineering. It had cost her a small fortune to get him into MIT, but so far he was doing better than he had at Yale.

 

Because of the former naval commander's reputation, Elsa had been a little concerned at first about the amount of time that her Sammy was spending with the petite redhead with the good looks and great fashion sense, whom he had laughingly introduced to her as Cousin Kelly.

 

But the first time she had seen Fiona to take a phone call from Michael when the younger woman had thought no one was looking had pretty much put Elsa's mind to rest. Likewise, when Ms. Dearborn had met with them as a couple for the first time and the Irishwoman had smiled big and said, “This is Michael, we work together,” she known then that they were nothing but friends.

 

Or frenemies, as Sam frequently fussed albeit jokingly about all the things that Tinker Bell had done to him during their side work. But when Fiona Glenanne had been arrested for the bombing of the UK embassy, finding out that she had been a member of a terrorist organization had been a terrible shock.

 

“Sweetheart, please believe me. it was a set up. Fiona isn't responsible for the deaths of those men. She had to hand herself in to protect Michael. I can't explain it all and I'm sorry for that, baby.” His large calloused palm had ghosted over her cheek, his fingers gently moving her hair back from her face. “But you can trust me on this… it'll all turn out right in the end.” 

 

And God help her when she had stared into his big brown eyes, she had believed him.

 

“What can I do to help?” she had found herself asking.

 

“Nothing baby, just be here for me.” 

 

He had held her so tightly that night; his worshipping of her body had left her breathless.

 

The following weeks had been like a blur to her. Sam was gone early every morning and sometimes without warning. He was gone for days at a time. Elsa had kept quiet about how weary he looked as he tried to keep everything normal between them, even going so far as to insist he paid for every tenth date.

 

But then had come that awful message on her voice mail. When she had played it back at the end of a busy day, it had chilled her to the bones.........

 

“Hey Elsa, it's Sammy. Listen. I don't think I can get there for dinner tonight. So – er, I'll try to call you later but – erm – in case I don't – Ah – I just wanted to say I love you, baby.”

 

It had been that message and the following hours fraught with fear and heartache which had convinced her that what she had with Sam Axe was more than a casual fling and it had been in the following days which had her employ one of the best private investigators in Miami to put to rest the last of her concerns.

 

Then, on the same day that the man she loved had rushed in to their bedroom, hurriedly packed his bags and disappeared on yet another mission with his best friend, the detective's report had landed on her desk.

 

“Here is everything I could dig up on Commander Samuel Axe.” The man she had hired had given her the highlights of the full details contained in a plain beige colored folder which now lay open before her.

 

“His parents are dead. He was an only child, so there are no siblings.... There was a Mrs Sam Axe who he divorced last year, though it looks like the marriage was over years ago. You'll find everything we dug up on her on page five. Financially, his bank accounts are all in the black, he has no debt... In fact considering his lifestyle his credit rating is very good..... Career-wise, I haven’t been able to find out much about his time in the SEAL teams, but what I have found is in there: Three Purple Hearts, several commendations, it's quite a list..... Since his discharge, he has been making a living as an unregistered private investigator and security consultant. You'll find all the details inside. My main concern is his relationship with Michael Westen, though because of Mr. Westen's status I haven't been able to find out enough to give a full report..... Your other concerns..... About the women he dated.... Mr Axe has a reputation as a ladies man; however, not one of the women who agreed to talk with me had a bad word to say about him.”

 

She had read through the report over and over again while waiting for the call that hadn't come in the days that had followed, until she had thrown it into the bin beside her desk and made the decision to fight for her man........ And fight for him is what she had done.

 

“Hey baby…”

 

She turned in her seat, shading her eyes against the rays of the hot Florida sun and smiled as the man she loved stepped out of her Italian style villa, all the anger gone from his face.

 

“Is everything alright?” She was on her feet now and moments later in his arms.

 

“Sure thing, Bly has gotta pick up a few things and then he is coming straight here. I think we might have caught a break.” He kissed her, his mouth sealing over hers, his tongue pressing against her teeth and she surrendered completely to him.

 

“It's lunchtime....” She gasped when they finally broke apart. “I'll order some champagne.”   
An end to all the government agents rampaging through their lives was worthy of a celebration.

 

“It might be a little early to break out the champagne, baby. I mean let’s wait and see what Bly comes back with.” Sam kept hold of the woman he loved. The intel he had given the CSS agent might be the key they needed to open the case, but there was just as much chance it would be a deadend.

 

“How about we save the champagne for a picnic later on? We can take the boat out, drop anchor out in the bay.”

 

“That sounds like a wonderful idea – though I have a meeting with the rep from Marcella's Flowers.”

 

His blank look was all the request for clarification Ms Dearborn needed.

 

“They supply the flowers and house plants for my hotels here in Florida. Marcella herself is going to take care of the arrangements for our wedding. She's flying in tomorrow from Tallahassee. I was supposed to go over my ideas with Edward this afternoon and it could go on until late,” Elsa explained.

 

Mr Axe raised his eyebrows at this, unable to believe that any conversation about flowers could take any longer than ten minutes. However, looking into his lady's eyes and reading how important this appointment was to her in those chocolate colored orbs, he knew better than to voice his true thoughts on the matter.

 

“How about you see if you can move that appointment forward an hour or so? I mean, I'm gonna be tied up with Bly for I don't know how long and I know how you feel about that guy.”

 

“Mmmm, that might work.” The brunette took a full step back out of his arms, half turning towards the large patio doors which led to the interior of the villa. “I'll make the call now and I'll speak to Sofia about lunch and the picnic later.”

 

Sam couldn't help but smile as his beloved gave him a peck on the cheek and then, moving like a woman on a mission, made her way back inside.

 

Turning away, he made his way over to the small table where the two empty glasses sat. Pulling out a chair, he dropped down and stared out over the tranquil blue water of the Atlantic. What he hadn't told Elsa was that if the name he had given Bly did lead somewhere, he intended on being there in the thick of it all the way.

 

Rayna's death had been so senseless and so devastating at the time. Not one person, not even Michael, would listen to his suspicions. He had been helpless as the CIA had closed ranks and closed down the investigation into the explosion.........  
He was kicking himself now that he hadn't seen the similarities with what had happened after Anson Fullerton's assassination. If his best friend hadn’t been so determined to find out who had killed his brother, Tom Card's involvement would never have been discovered.

 

"Jesus, Kid, are you really this stupid? You still think this is all on me? Do you think I wanted to order Tyler Grey to take you out? I was following orders. Something you seem to have forgotten how to do."

 

Sam picked up his glass and then frowned when he remembered he had emptied it earlier....... Somewhere out there was at least one powerful man who had been pulling the strings for probably the last twenty years.

 

There was no doubt in his mind now that his best friend's old partner, Larry Sizemore, had been behind the explosion that had killed Rayna. But that soulless sonuvabitch had merely been the means to her end.

 

Sam swallowed thickly as a bad taste rose up in his throat, his memories of Rayna taking him back to that makeshift office she had been allocated at Incirlik airbase in Turkey. Mikey had been laid up in a hospital bed recovering from what had happened during a botched mission in Chechen and they had been listening into Larry crowing about how he had gotten one over on their Station Chief.

 

“Good old J.B came through again. I'll introduce you to the old bastard one day, Kid, when you've grown up a bit.” The hated voice of Sizemore had crackled slightly through the bug Rayna had placed in his protégée’s hospital room as she had played back the recording for him, reminding the former naval commander that back in '94, Larry had had the head of IOC in his pocket.

 

"Do you think I am the only one who had things they didn't want Anson Fullerton to bring out into the open?" Another voice, this one belonging to Tom Card, from a more recent recording had hinted there were a lot of people who wouldn't have wanted Anson revealing their dirty little secrets.

 

Could the present head of the IOC be as dirty as his predecessor? A shiver ran up Sam's spine at the thought. If Cowley was as dirty as Senator J.B. Jamieson... No… It wasn't possible…

 

He shook away that thought forcefully. 

 

The Congressman had been the face of the clean-up of the CIA and the investigation into Drake Technologies. He had been there at the head of a whole squad of National Guardsmen when they had brought down Vaughn and he had been the one who had gained the most once the information on the thumb drive had been deciphered. He had basked in the glory of Mike’s takedown of that organization.

 

Spies and politicians tend not to get along very well. Politicians see spies as vitally important in the national interest right up to the point where they deny ever meeting them and abandon them entirely. It makes for a tough working relationship.

 

Another thought hit the ex-SEAL and had him on his feet with his empty glass in hand........ How many of those people who had wanted Anson dead before the DIA psychologist could start talking were going to be part of the committee sitting on judgement on them all?

 

Somewhere out there was someone or some group with enough power and influence to scare Tom Card into making the Operations Chief try to take out a man he thought of as a son and the whole team he'd had helping him. Then since Card's death, they had been manipulating the upcoming hearing first by delaying it and then only a day ago suddenly moving it up, giving them barely enough time to get everything together........ It hadn’t ended with Kessler or Anson or Card… there was one more bastard still in the wind…

 

Walking back into the cool of the villa, Sam made his way over to the drinks cabinet. In the background he could hear Elsa talking to somebody who obviously wasn't the florist or her maid Sofia.

 

“We can't possibly free up an entire floor on such short notice.....”

 

Pursing his lips, he poured a large measure of his favorite brand of bourbon into his glass.

 

Michael had insisted it wasn’t over and he had said Rayna’s death was no random act of terrorism. Too bad they had both been right about this. Too bad they hadn’t listened to each other back in the day.

 

But if they were all going to get out of this latest mess, they were going to need an edge. Some sort of leverage which would allow them all to walk away free and clear once and for all. 

 

“Hand him the phone. I'll deal with it now..... One starring role in a second rate movie does not give anyone the right to disturb my guests or talk to my staff like that.” Sam winced as his lady's voice went up several octaves. Somebody was about to get their ass handed to him. 

 

Taking a long appreciative sip from his replenished glass, Sam decided that from what he had just over heard that his fiancée was going to be busy for some time to come.

 

He grinned and shook his head when he thought about all the arrangements his high flying lady had been busy making. In the last three days, as well as taking care of her day job as owner of a chain of four and five star hotels, she had in whatever spare time she could manage had arranged their wedding in the Chadwick's ballroom and then a honeymoon in the Maldives followed by a whirlwind tour of Europe. 

 

Elsa had even mentioned there was a conference in Hong Kong taking place around the time their three month honeymoon was due to end and had asked if he wanted to accompany her there.

 

It hadn't struck him until he had started thinking about Rayna how much the two women were alike although certainly not in looks. Rayna with her dirty blonde hair and athletic build was the opposite of Elsa's dark brown locks and slender figure. He decided would have paid good money to see his new love kitted out in army greens, barking out orders to an elite team of special forces operatives.

 

Suddenly, he was blushing........ Jeez, in all these years he had never realized he had a type. Maybe that was what had caused him to be unable to settle. Strong independent driven women with laser like focus were a challenge, but one he definitely enjoyed taking on.

 

“Senor Axe, you have a visitor.” Elsa's maid Sofia walked out onto the patio closely followed by a harassed looking Jason Bly.

 

“Thanks, Sofia.” Sam gestured with a wave of his hand for the CSS agent to join him. “You took your sweet time getting here, Bly.”

 

“I had something else to deal with first.”

 

“Ah, Senor Sam, Miss Elsa said she is sorry, but her business calls are going to take longer than expected, so you should have lunch without her.....” Two more of Elsa's staff appeared carrying a tray holding a large plate of sandwiches and another with a pot of coffee and two cups.

 

“That's great, thank you.”

 

The two men waited for the staff to depart and then once they were alone, Jason Bly opened the document case he was carrying and dropped a heavy pale blue colored folder before the older man.

 

“Now, about this guy, Benson, are you sure he's the one? This guy…” He prodded the folder. “This is the guy your former girlfriend would trust with her biggest secrets? He's not exactly the ace operative you made him out to be, Axe.”

 

“Hey. I just had a name, pal. I haven’t seen the guy for over twenty years. But I do know Rayna thought a lot of him and it took a lot to impress her.” 

 

“Apparently not,” the CSS agent muttered under his breath, but the ex-SEAL heard him nonetheless.  
Ignoring the gibe, Sam picked up the folder and flicked through the pages, staring for a moment at the face of a man he barely recognized.

 

Steven Benson had changed a lot over the years. The young man he had met for the first and last time at Incirlik Air Force base had been full of enthusiasm and ready to step out from under Rayna Kopec's protective wing to take a posting as a field agent in the Balkans region. This man was far heavier built and, considering he was a year or two younger than Michael, looked much older and far wearier.

 

Suddenly he perked up as he began to read. “See here, he was injured back in '95 during the rescue of ten UN delegates being held hostage in Kosovo. He took five bullets, left him with compromised vision and a severe limp, and he still managed to do his job, says they gave him a medal.” 

 

Benson had certainly done more to earn his commendation than his friend had in Chechnya. Sam forcefully pushed that part of his memories away. Larry had truly corrupted Michael’s soul back then.

 

“So he was a hero.” Bly didn't sound impressed. “But he hasn't done anything since. Look here.” He leaned over the table and turned the pages in the folder until found what he was looking for. “Where it says after he recovered from his injuries, he was sidelined and given light duty. He was already on the other side of the world during the last two years of Kopec's life.”

 

“And I'm telling you, Rayna had a lot of time for Benson. I remember her saying that for a fella who wanted to be out in the field, he had a real gift as an analyst and I know for a fact she met up with him a buncha times after he transferred. She didn’t do social calls, Bly. If she didn’t tell me her secrets because it had something to do with the Company higher ups, she might have told Steven Benson.”

 

Staring at the file, Sam was struck by something Mike had said to him more than once over the years.

 

Most of the people who work in a consulate or embassy are just municipal drones enjoying an overseas post. But the head of security, that guy's almost always a spy.

 

“Hey, wouldn't a guy working on the other side of the planet be the perfect person to hide your secrets?” he demanded. “I mean, from what I heard head of security for an embassy is the perfect position for a spy... Even in a friendly nation like Australia. I mean, it's close to a lot of the smuggling routes through Thailand, Cambodia and for supplying all the good little spies out in Japan, China and North Korea.”

 

“Maybe…” the younger man reluctantly agreed and then, as Sam continued to stare him down, Bly finally capitulated. “Okay…. Fine. Yes, it is possible. If Benson is as good as you say he is.”

 

“We need to speak to him, Bly, and soon.”

 

“It won't be easy.... I've gotta be ---” The CSS agent glanced at his watch, his thoughts clearly going elsewhere. “It’s going to take some time to arrange a secure video conference. I'm going to have to ---”

 

“Hell No! Haven't you learned anything?” Sam smacked a hand down on the table top. “You go through official channels, asking to speak to some security chief out in the boonies, it's gonna raise red flags. Benson will be dead or transferred to, oh I don’ know, probably the Arctic Circle. Come on, buddy!”

 

“So what do you suggest, Sam? Do you want to write him letter? Or how about smoke signals?”

 

For a moment, Sam was stumped as to what to suggest. Bly had a point. If they wanted to move quickly, they couldn't waste time by being over cautious. Sitting back in his chair, he reached out for one of the sandwiches on the plate before him. He always did his best thinking when he was eating or drinking.

 

“We can't risk going through official channels, that's for sure.... How about I get Elsa to arrange it?”

 

“Your girlfriend?” Bly raised his eyebrows in surprise.

 

“It's not as far fetched as you think. She’s got hotels out there. She deals with alotta the demanding rich and powerful. All she has to say is she needs to talk to Benson about something, oh I don't know.... Maybe… what about asking what are the chances of some rich celebrity getting their prized pooch though customs? Once she has him on the line, one of us can take over.... What do you think, pal?”

 

“Six months ago, I would have thought it was a crap idea. But right now, after dealing with you and Westen, it's not the craziest idea either of you has come up with. So, fine, knock yourself out, get your girlfriend to make the call. I've gotta couple a calls to make myself before I get back to prepping my star witness and see if he’s got his head back in the game yet.”

 

“What's that supposed to mean?” Sam was instantly on alert. He had been worrying about his best friend's state of mind ever since he had been cleared from the hospital. The revelation that his training officer had been behind Nate's death and the most recent attempt on all their lives had had a profound effect on Mike.

 

“Nothing,” Bly was on his feet now. “Nothing I can't handle anyway. Finish your lunch and let me know when Ms Dearborn has that video conference set up.”

 

“Bly!” Sam jumped up, but he was too late. The CSS agent was already out of sight, following the edge of the patio around to the front of the villa...... That SOB was pretty fast for a desk jockey…

 

“Dammit,” the retired navy man growled and slumped back into his seat.

 

It was obvious that there was more going on than Bly was willing to share, but for now there was nothing he could about that. Sam would have to wait for his lady to finish with her phone calls and then, once he had set up a time to talk to Benson, he would give Mikey a call and find out what was going on with him.

 

Until then, he had food to eat, booze to be drunk and the Florida sun to lie under. Picking up the plate of sandwiches in one hand and the remains of his bourbon in the other, he made his way back over across the terrace to the lounge chairs....... There were worse ways to wait…and he had done most of them already.

 

()()()()()

 

But unlike his best friend, Michael Westen was finding it impossible to relax and wait patiently for his protector cum tormentor to return from wherever the man had disappeared to. Having gotten himself mentally prepared to dive into the matter of his testimony with a renewed vigor and campaign to be allowed to take a run at Olivia Riley, it was frustrating to the ex-operative in no small degree to be left alone with no idea why Bly was almost two hours late and apparently radio silent as it were.

 

He had reasoned that calling the man might not be the best use of his time initially and Michael had succeeded in making himself sit and read through all the paperwork again for the first hour, making notes as to things he felt could be spun against him, of which there were many, and reviewing their strategies for answering those as well. He spent the second hour coming up with ways to rattle the counter intelligence queen before moving to questions he could pose to Riley that would shore their defenses.

 

In between he had looked in on his beloved, as much to assure himself she was okay as to remind himself what was at stake here, not that he really needed prompting. He had missed her so much… the pain of abandoning her in that hotel in Tallahassee was somehow worse than all the other times he had left her.

 

He had crept quietly into their private chamber, mindful not to wake her and apparently succeeding. As the dark haired man had stood over her, her flowing auburn locks spread over the pillow and her naked form barely covered by the light sheet, he had been unable to resist pressing a kiss to her cheek. Her atypical unresponsiveness had brought back one of his worst memories in a brutal flash......... 

 

He was standing over her, shaking with the enormity of what he had done… He had to give her the sleeping draught his former training officer had handed him. He couldn’t take the risk of her following him, not this time. If she were picked up by the CIA or worse MI6, death would be a kindness compared to what would happen to her… He would figure out something, call someone in the CIA, anyone who would to listen to him. He’d even risk seeking out her brother Liam if that’s what it took, but he had to go alone…

 

Swallowing thickly, Michael had lightly touched his lips to her bare shoulder and then her temple. She was sleeping hard because she was pregnant with his child. That more than anything made the fact that he was going to be a father far more tangible. He had hurt her in the past, but not now, not again.

 

But the paranoia that had kept him alive for most of his life was on a full rampage. There were literally dozens of reasons, both good and bad, why the CSS agent would be late and incommunicado, but none of them were satisfying his all-consuming need to move forward and protect his family to be. Michael circled the gleaming marble alcove in front of the private elevator, his cell phone clutched in his hand.

 

He’d been happy enough to see their bodyguards give them some privacy, but now he was wishing for someone to interrogate. Even if they told him nothing, their demeanor would tell him whether there was a real danger in the making or just a damned inconvenience. He could call Bly, but depending on what the man was doing that, it could be a problem. He could wake Fiona, but she needed her rest, not to worry. 

 

Hesitation in the field could get you killed, but rushing off without a plan could be equally deathly...

 

Biting down on his lower lip, Michael weighed his options, his hand wavering over the elevator button. 

 

()()()()()

 

Fiona Glenanne woke slowly. Yawning and stretching, she opened her eyes a crack and with a contented sigh rolled over on to her side, reaching out for the clock beside the bed. It took the sleepy red head several seconds to get her eyes to focus on the digital display. But when her mind finally made sense of the blur of numbers, she let out a soft groan.

 

She had meant to take a short nap while Michael was in the shower and then get up herself. Though a long soak in the tub had sounded like heaven at the time, being trapped in a bedroom for the whole afternoon regardless to how luxurious the prison cell was while Michael was being grilled by Bly and his minions had felt more like hell.

 

So she had intended to follow her lover's example with a quick shower and then spend the afternoon testing the CSS agents’ surveillance skills by taking a trip around Miami's fashion district. But now.....

 

She turned her gaze to the door which lead to the living area and pouted. But now she had overslept by two hours and Michael and Bly would be deep into yet another debrief, which meant one of the nasty little drones working for the agent in charge was probably on the other side of the barrier ready to order her back inside.

 

It was tempting to go out there any way and forcibly remind them all that she wasn't under house arrest and she could go anywhere she damn well pleased. But that thought only lasted as long as it took the petite Irishwoman to toss back the bed covers, sit up and place her feet on the floor.

 

Biting down on her bottom lip, Ms. Glenanne glanced down and ran a critical eye over the changes to her body. Her thickening waist and fuller breasts a sharp reminder of her new responsibilities.

 

Running out and laying down the law sounded like fun, but going on a shopping trip and losing the men sent to keep her safe, even though she didn't need the help of a protection detail for that was not the smart play. Neither was riling up Jason Bly and putting the father of her child's freedom on the line.

 

With a heart-felt sigh, Fiona rose up to her feet and stretched again...... Maybe a long relaxing soak was exactly what she needed to quell the urge to drive away the government drones making both hers and her mate's lives a misery.

 

She walked around the bed, her mind already planning on what she and Michael would be doing later on....... A long swim in the pool to help her lover relax all those tense muscles from hunching over a table for hours on end, followed by a meal on the terrace… She would have to call down to the kitchen and ask them to make his favorite, tuna tahini. And then… Her eyes drifted back to the bed, her lips curving into a smile, and– She froze, her heart starting to beat faster in her chest.

 

It was too quiet... The bedroom wasn't sound-proofed. There should be sounds of talking, or at least the shuffle of feet coming from the other side.

 

“Sonuvabitch,” she hissed, as all her old fears and insecurities rushed to the fore....... Had he disappeared again? Had he taken the opportunity to leave her and their baby? It wasn't like he hadn't done it before. Or had Bly had enough of his disinterest in going over the paperwork for the umpteenth time and carried out his threat to have Michael imprisoned for the duration of the hearings?

 

With her mind coming up with more and more scenarios, each one more frightening than the last, she hurriedly slipped into the dress she had discarded earlier and rushed to the door, her hand freezing over the handle as she brought her breathing under control....... What if she was wrong? These damn pregnancy hormones were playing havoc with her emotional state. 

 

Only last night they had spent hours going over their plans for the house. Michael had changed; he had sworn to her he wanted nothing more to do with the CIA. He wouldn't have lied to her about something so important, not now, not after he had proposed to her... But it was completely possible that Bly had finally decided to give her fiancé some incentive to improve his cooperation.

 

Pressing her ear against the door, she strained to hear anything that was taking place on the other side. Nothing at all.... Okay, so maybe when Bly found out she was sleeping inside, he decided to take the meeting outside. That was possible, wasn't it?

 

Shaking from a mixture of anger and fear, the mother to be twisted the handle and stepped into the living area, her blue green eyes misting up when she realized the room was empty.


	35. A Fresh Approach

He couldn't have left her... He wouldn't do that to her, not again, especially not now... Fiona Glenanne stood frozen to the spot.

 

A pulsating wooshing noise filled her ears blocking out everything else....... He wouldn't have gone with Bly without letting her know. Even if he had been clapped in irons he would have found a way to wake her.... 

 

A creeping tightness pervaded her chest causing her to fight for each gasping breath...... He had to be somewhere close... He wouldn't... He would nae... He... He..... He.... Oh God, she wa'...... 

 

A tingling starting in her fingertips was working its way upwards turning her arms to lead....... She couldnae breathe... She couldnae...

 

Fiona staggered across the living room, aiming for the closed glass doors leading to the outside. She needed fresh air, the sensation of being abandoned almost totally overwhelming her. Just when she thought she was going to collapse from breathlessness and pain, her eyes alighted on the dining table and the papers strewn across its surface. Reaching out she steadied herself and by sheer will forced her panicked breathing to slow.

 

Whot tha hell is wrong wit' me? Is it me blood pressure? Sommit worse? Tis almost like those attacks me Cousin Aileen used ta have...

 

She had never suffered from a panic attack before, not even as a child caught up in the violence which was an almost everyday part of her upbringing, and she wasn't about to allow herself the indulgence of collapsing in a puddle of goo now. Biting down on her bottom lip as hard as she could, the former paramilitary used the pain to help her focus. Slowly her clouded vision began to clear and the sound of her blood rushing through her veins faded away.

 

With hands which refused to stop shaking, the petite redhead moved the sheets of paper on the table around, using her newly restored vision to skim over her absent boyfriend's precise scrawl: Pandit... weaponized technology... coordinated hotel attacks... A diversion?   
Zeyes cartel... Illegal drugs trade... Smuggling routes? Schmidt...

 

“Fiona?”

 

At the sound of her lover's voice she spun around, the relief at the sight of him there and unharmed making her legs go weak. 

 

“Mi-chael…” Her breath hitched in the back of her throat as she took in every minute detail of his appearance...... He looked worried...

 

Her dark haired lover came towards her, his long strides easily covering the distance, his arms stretched out, his hands reaching for her.

 

“What's going on, Fi?"

 

On legs which felt like rubber and barely capable of supporting her, Fiona launched herself into his arms, her head impacting his chest and nearly knocking the air out of him.

 

“Huh- er, Fi… Fi, what's wrong?” The slightly elevated beat of his heart and steady rise and fall of his chest instantly had a soothing effect on her overwrought emotions and when he ever so tenderly drew back the loose strands of her hair which had fallen over her face and tucking them behind one ear, she looked up at him through tear filled eyes.

 

“I-I…” She sniffed and sucked in a deep breath........ God I hate feeling so feckin' weak and needy. Why am I falling apart like babby wit' a skint knee? Hell, even as a babe I wa' tougher than this!

 

“Fi, you're scaring me.” He thumbed away an errant tear which had been making its way down the side of her nose. “Is it something wrong with—oh, your lip.”

 

Oh this wa’ taa much....

 

“It's nothing…” She sucked in her swollen bottom lip, faintly tasting blood from where she had bitten down....... Am Fiona Glenanne dammit, nae some damned damsel in distress in need o' a big strong man ta pat har on tha head an' tell har everythin' wa' gonna be alright.

 

Anger and disgust at her own weakness steeled her quivering limbs. Twisting her body, she made a gap and used the flat of her hands on his tear stained shirt to push him away.

 

“Am sorry, tis – I warned ya, didn't I? This baby is turning me into a nervous wreck.” The faint laughter in her voice sounded false even to her own ears.

 

“Is that all it is?” he asked cautiously, visibly debating the wisdom of trying to embrace her again.

 

Swiping the back of her hand over her eyes, she hoped and prayed that Michael wasn't going to decide to make something more than it was of her lapse.

 

“Okay let's sit down for a bit. I'll get you some water. Maybe, maybe I should call that doctor, Adam?” If she wasn't so shaken up, she would have found it funny the way he gingerly tried to guide her towards the couch, his arm circling her waist without actually touching her.

 

“Really, I'm fine now. Michael, please just stop fussing. I don't need Adam coming all the way out here for this.” The thought of Elsa's friend being paraded past all Bly's annoying minions filled her with nausea. To be seen as vulnerable in front of people she still classed as the enemy was an anathema to her....... Their baby was going to be fine.... This was nothing like the last time,when she had fainted and nearly caused Sam to have a heart attack. This was a stupid overreaction on her part; that was all.

 

“If you're sure…? You weren't looking so well when I found you.”

 

“I said I'm fine. Can we please let it go now?” Fiona looked around, frantically searching for something to use to deflect the father of her child's attention away from her embarrassing behavior..... Where had he come from? He hadn't been in the living room, she'd called out, or outside. That only left.....

 

“Michael, what were you doing by the elevator?”

 

“I -”

 

There, she had him… The gun runner watched as his deep blue eyes widened a fraction and his features took on that innocent expression which wouldn't fool a soul.

 

“Bly has been MIA for the last two hours so I thought - -”

 

“You thought you would break your house arrest and risk being thrown in some government hell-hole until this is all cleared up just to satisfy your curiosity,” she accused, her eyes lasering in on the device cradled in his palm. “That article there in your hand, it’s called a cell phone. Really, Michael, have you even tried calling the man?” She didn't even try to keep the exasperation out of her tone. For somebody so intelligent and resourceful as her fiancé, he really could be so dense at times.

 

“I thought about it and decided that he would have called me if he could. If something was happening, he might not have time to inform me or he might be in a situation where me calling him was ---” 

 

He stopped talking as she stared back up at him, her eyebrows raised in disbelieve at his dissembling.

 

“You want out of this gilded cage as much as I do, admit it.” She slapped his arm lightly. “Look me in the eye and tell me you weren't about to sneak down to the lobby and grab one of those tiresome drones and do a little bit of interrogating of your own.”

 

“I -” He grinned and then leaned in, his lips tenderly brushing over hers. But before he could distract her any further, Fiona twisted away and headed for the foyer and the only way down to the ground floor.

 

“Fi, what do you think you are doing?” But he was too late. The doors of the elevator were still open from earlier and before he could stop her, she was inside. “Get out of there.”

 

“I'm being a supportive partner, Michael. You wait here. I'll do the snatching and then you can to do--”

 

“Fi-ona,” he warned, his fingers curled about the doors holding them open. “I mean it, get back in here.” 

 

“I wanta help, Michael, and this way you can honestly say you never left the penthouse.” She had recognized the annoyance in his tone and if she hadn't still been feeling a little light headed, she’d have kicked his ass for it........ His concern was sweet really, but unnecessary and also potentially dangerous.

 

“I can do this, probably better than you....” the fiery redhead added as he continued to glare...... She needed to do this, to prove not only to her over-protective boyfriend that she was still as capable as ever, but herself too. “Big tough government agency types tend to underestimate the old and infirm – and poor defenseless pregnant ladies.”

 

“Nobody would ever describe you as defenseless, Fi.”

 

There were cracks appearing in his resolve and it took all her remaining self-control not to smirk.

 

“So let me do this for you,” she concluded with a saucy toss of her head and a devilish grin.

 

He pursed his lips and slowly released his grip on the doors. “Fine… Just be…careful, okay?”

 

“You know me,” his fiancée replied as the doors slid shut, her smile widening as she didn't quite catch whatever piece of advice her lover had tried to call out.

 

Staring at the highly polished steel doors, Fiona caught her first good look at herself since she had left the bedroom. Her long auburn hair fell tangled and limp about her blotchy face...... Oh this would never do... Now she was really pissed…

 

As she dragged her fingers through her tousled mane, trying without much success to coax some resemblance of style back into her bedraggled locks, the former guerrilla fighter reviewed her options for completing the task she had set herself: Whether a spy or a paramilitary, when a pro plans an ambush, they capitalize on the element of surprise. They attack aggressively so their opponent has to react from a place of weakness.

 

When the elevator glided to a stop and the doors opened with barely a whisper, Fiona was leaning forward almost doubled over, using the hem of her dress to dab at the tear stains marring her cheeks.

 

“Ma'am, you can't be down here. You need to go back upstairs.”

 

Ah…An’ look who is wa’ … Agent Langstrom… tha man who tried ta deny har her lunchtime treat.... Oh this wa' jus’ gettin' better an' better.

 

“Oh – oh, Am sorry.” She sniffed and straightened up, revealing her moisture filled eyes. “It's – it's – oh!” The one time terrorist let her body go limp and fell forward straight into the younger man's arms.

 

“Ma'am, ma'am, are you alright? Here let me ---” The CSS agent struggled to support the semi-conscious woman who was clinging onto him, her fingers clawing at his jacket, at his shirt.... at the holster on his belt. 

 

“What the--?”

 

Unfortunately for her victim, it was too late, his gun was now in the tiny hand of a former terrorist and bank robber turned ill-legal weapons dealer and its business end was pressed against his stomach. 

 

He gulped as she grinned up at him.

 

“Ya can take yar hands off me nar, tis nae like Am gonna ask ya fer a dance,” Fiona purred as she maneuvered the agent into the elevator. So far, nobody else had appeared in the small private area at the rear of the Chadwick Hotel's reception, but she knew that at any moment one of the other agents could come to check on Langstrom.

 

“What do you think you're doing?” he asked, clearly questioning her sanity. She could tell he was torn between fighting her for the weapon and letting the moment play out.

 

“Michael Westen would like a word with you,” the redhead replied, almost purring at the delight she was taking at getting this chance for a little bit of excitement.

 

“If you give me my gun back now, I promise you won't get in trouble.”

 

“But then you'll miss out on our little chat.” Keeping the pistol on her prisoner, Fiona used her free hand to tap down on the button that caused the doors to slide shut and the lift to rise.

 

()()()()()()()()()()()

 

The drive from Star Island to the Chadwick Hotel went far quicker than Jason Bly had expected. For once the traffic had flowed smoothly and in a little under twenty minutes since leaving Sam Axe lounging in the lap of luxury, he was pulling into the underground parking garage of the five star property.

 

Pulling into one of the spots Mrs. Dearborn had been good enough to reserve for him and his teams vehicles, the CSS agent rested his head back and closed his eyes in an effort to prepare himself for an afternoon of dealing with his distracted witness....... He had to find some way of getting Westen to focus on the task at hand instead of worrying about Fiona Glenanne and the prospect of impending fatherhood.

 

There was a small part of him that sympathized with the disgraced former spy. He remembered how he had felt when he'd discovered he was going to be a father. He had been working out in the field in those days too, stationed in Egypt to be precise. Part of a task force made up of counter intelligence officers from both the military and the CIA running checks on their allies in the build up to the first Gulf War.

 

It had been a tough time, and incredibly dangerous; four agents from his team had been kidnapped while traveling together from their hotel to an army base. All of them had turned up dead a week later, their bodies showing signs of the extreme torture they had suffered before being executed.

 

After that, everyone traveled with a special forces escort, but it hadn't stopped the fear which had filled him every day, the realization he might not make it back to see his child to be born. It had affected him so profoundly that it had been the major reason why he had chosen to transfer to a job which would keep him state side in the future.

 

He might have cultivated the smart ass exterior as a way of dealing with the anxiety, but he still would spend the majority of his down time laying on his bunk staring at the grainy scan photograph that Pamela had sent him along with the news he was going to be a dad. How that image had stayed with him through the long nights and sometimes made it difficult to concentrate during the hot dusty days.

 

Sighing heavily, the counter intelligence operative opened his eyes and swung open the car door....... This was getting him nowhere. 

 

He had already wasted years trying to figure out how Michael Westen's mind worked..... The man was an enigma. 

 

Westen’s dossier, the one Bly had been blackmailed into handing over, documented the career of a covert operative who would go to any lengths and do whatever it took to get the job done regardless of the cost. 

 

And yet for a man who had on numerous occasions had shown he was capable of putting both friends and family in dangerous life threatening situations, he still managed to inspire an insane amount of loyalty from those close to him. Some of them had even shown they were willing to die to protect him…

 

“You're going down on three counts of capital murder. Now that's a ticket to death row. But you tell me the truth about Michael and it doesn't have to be that way.”

 

He had done his best that day to explain to the fiery Irishwoman the trouble she was in; however, even chained to a desk she had been indomitable.

 

“Michael has nothing to do with this.” She had fiercely asserted and at that moment he had known there was no way she would incriminate her lover while he was still alive.

 

Unfortunately his attempt to convince her that Michael had lost his life in order to save her life had been a continued source of tension in the penthouse suite whenever the woman had been present.

 

Walking swiftly across to the bank of elevators which would take him up to the main lobby of the hotel, Jason Bly nodded to the agent he had given the task of guarding the agencies vehicles in passing.

 

One of the many things he had learned after his first run-ins with Michael Westen was not to leave anything of value unguarded. The memory of all the forms he’d had to fill out in order to requisition a new laptop after the burned spy had fried his original one still rankled. Some days it was more of a struggle than others to remember that Westen had saved his life during that abortive bank robbery.

 

Stepping out in into the air conditioned lobby, the man in charge took a moment to check out that his team was all in position, two keeping an eye on the main entrance and another sitting down watching over the restaurant and the hallway which lead to the gym. There were also two more out by the pool and the cabanas.

 

Satisfied everyone was where they were supposed to be, he headed towards the busy reception desk and the private elevator beyond which would take him up to his prize witness's luxury prison cell.

 

Threatening Westen with a lifetime in prison had failed to work… What he needed was a new approach; maybe the way to go was to talk about the things he was going to miss out on if he threw his life away. Maybe walking Westen through all the upcoming events in his child’s life would…... Okay, this isn't good...

 

Jason Bly came to a stop and as he scanned the area, his right hand went under his jacket bringing out his weapon. 

 

Langstrom was missing….

 

()()()()()()()()()()

 

If you need to get information from a government official, it is often best to approach him away from his usual place of business. When he is not in an environment which enforces his authority, you're a lot more likely to get something out of him… Especially if you can catch him alone.

 

When his fiancée had offered to bring one of the CSS agents guarding them back with her, he had expected she would divert the man with some story that would require his presence. So needless to say, he was mildly surprised when Fiona returned holding Agent Langstrom at gunpoint.

 

During an operation you never want to make a move until everyone is on the same page, but sometimes you have no choice. When someone on your team hands you a surprise, you have to hope they realize the plan that’s already in motion and find a way to be part of it.

 

“You can have this back in a minute.” Michael Westen barred his teeth in what was supposed to be a reassuring smile as he motioned for their apparent captive sit down with the weapon he’d taken from his lover’s grasp before laying it at the far end of the expansive and expensive wooden surface. “All I want is the answer to a few easy questions... I'm not going to be asking for state secrets.”

 

The missing CSS agent sat in one of the six matching chairs surrounding the dining table. Although he wasn't restrained in any way, the blonde made no attempt to escape, mostly because just to the left inside his peripheral vision, Fiona Glenanne stood slowly and very carefully cutting chunks off an apple using a small but deadly looking paring knife, which from the way she stared at him the insane redhead would take great delight in using on him.

 

“How about a simple yes or no…?” The disgraced spy approached his target slowly, one hand landing on the younger man's shoulder. “Is your boss due back in the next hour…? Two hours…? Huh...? More than three hours? Maybe something came up…?”

 

The art of turning someone into a double agent is delicate. The target has to be put into a fragile psychological state. Fortunately, fragile psychological states are a specialty of Fiona's.

 

“Really, Michael, when you asked me to get you somebody to chat with I didn't expect you to take all day about it.”

 

Michael watched as the uptight young agent flinched as his beautiful accomplice moved closer, her tongue flickering out to lick the juice on the razor sharp blade in her hand.

 

“How about you step outside while me and Langstrom here get a bit better acquainted?”

 

“You were there, weren’t you? You were in charge of the detail at the house on Palm Island, right?” Michael asked conversationally, sitting on the edge of the table on the opposite side of the other man.

 

The agent’s gaze flitted between his two captors, not sure which one to watch, while continually straying back to his weapon sitting at the far end of the table well out of his reach.

 

“Oh, yes, he was there. You remember what fun all we had there, don’t you, Agent Langstrom? Just go, Michael... I can assure you those doors are quite soundproof. You won't hear a thing while you’re out there.” She leaned in close, her lips almost brushing against the younger man's ear. “We'll be all alone.”

 

“That’s enough!” Langstrom declared, pushing the chair out and stepping away from the lunatic holding him prisoner. “You need to keep her away from me. I can’t be responsible for her safety if she--”

 

“No, I’ll the one be responsible,” she declared, the mischievous glint in her blue-green eyes all the reassurance Michael needed that his lover was in reality starting to enjoy herself a little too much.

 

“Fiona, leave him alone. We’re all just having a friendly little chat here. No need for violence…”

 

“I've told ya before, Michael, yer no fun…” his petite partner in crime pouted and didn’t move.

 

“Fi…” and there was a note of warning his tone that appeared to finally persuade her.

 

The two men waited as the auburn haired former paramilitary turned her back and strolled over to the kitchen area to sit at the breakfast bar and eat the remainder of her apple.

 

Michael took a step towards the unfortunate young agent, who stiffened at his approach.

 

“You see what I’m dealing with here, right?” the burned spy pitched his voice low, a conspiratorial whisper between allies. “She’s going stir crazy. All I said was I didn’t know when we were getting done today and I needed to talk to someone and the next thing I know, she’s kidnapped you. Women, right? Look, this really doesn’t need to be this hard… I just need to know when Agent Bly is coming back and then she’ll calm down, okay? Is he expected back soon or did something go a little sideways maybe?”

 

Fortunately for the hapless Langstrom, the man in question chose that moment to exit the elevator.

 

“Well obviously something has gone sideways here, am I right, Langstrom? I was beginning to think I needed to send out a search party.”

 

“Sir–” The CSS agent spun around to face his boss. “They--”

 

“It's not what you think, Bly.” Michael interrupted the younger man. “We were just having a quick conversation.”

 

“Oh, I can see that,” the senior operative gestured with a jerk of his head to the weapon laying on the table before turning his attention completely on his junior team member. “Why don't you put that back where it belongs and then you can remind me why I put you in charge here in the first place."

 

“Sir, she, Ms Glenanne, she ah......” The blonde's words trailed off as he realized there was no good way to explain how a woman half his weight and nearly a foot shorter had disarmed him so easily.

 

“Langstrom, you are not helping your case. Go let the rest of the team know you're alive and by the way, while Ms Glenanne is a pregnant woman, you might also want to remember she has an Interpol file as thick as your skull.”

 

The operative in question huffed and dropped his head, his cheeks flaming red as he skirted around where the tiny former terrorist stood in his way before retrieving his gun and hurriedly departing, shooting her an ire-filled glare on his way out.

 

“I can't leave you two alone for a few hours without you getting into trouble....?” Bly tssked. “So you mind telling me why you decided to humiliate Langstrom? You know, Westen, you're supposed to be smart and pissing off the head of your protection detail is not smart. What was so important it couldn't wait?"

 

"Like you keep telling me, Bly, we've gotta lot of ground to cover and I starting to wonder what was keeping you."

 

“Why, Michael Westen, did you miss me?” Bly smiled, the agent's eyes now on the papers stacked neatly on the table.

 

“I have concerns about the investigation," the former spy answered, his hands snatching up the pages which had attracted the other man's attention. “Concerns I thought we needed to discuss.”

 

“And instead of using the phone I have graciously allowed you to keep, you decided the best way to get my attention was to send your pregnant girlfriend out to kidnap and disarm a member of the team that's supposed to be protecting both of you?”

 

“I told you so,” Fiona stage whispered and then clamped her lips tightly together as both men turned their eyes on her. "What? I just invited him up for a wee chat tis all."

 

“That's not exactly how it happened," Michael answered and then began to spread the pages out on the table top. "But that's not important right now. I've been thinking about some of the walls we've run into. We have no idea where Sam Pandit, that guy I extracted out of India, has gone and we've got no idea where to even begin looking for Card's accounts or what he was planning in Yemen. But what we do have is someone in custody who knows a lot more than I do.”

 

While the CIA’s former ace operative was talking, Bly rifled through the man's notes. “You think Card was planning on taking over where Anson and the others left off?"

 

"I think he was in the midst of setting up an extensive supply network: the Cartel in the South, Greyson Miller's contacts for Northern Europe and Hamady's intelligence network in the Middle East. Guns, weapons tech, intel..."

 

The counter intelligence agent continued to nod and look thoughtful. As Bly had no further sarcastic counter remarks, Michael took this as encouragement to continue.

 

“And I think he has been building up to this for years and Card was just using this opportunity to expand his field of operations. You heard him on those tapes, he admitted to being in China, Yemen.... And I think the only way we're going to get to the bottom of this is if you let me talk to Riley.”

 

“Put you two in the same room?" Bly straightened up and shook his head. “Westen, do you not understand there are multiple people campaigning to throw the both of you in a deep dark hole and toss away the key? I don't know what you expect to get out of her. I can tell you personally from our conversations that she really doesn't like you very much. Guess even that Westen charm has its limits."

 

“That's good. If we play it right, she'll be off balance.”

 

Michael paused. He could see that Bly was not convinced by his argument so he changed tactics.

 

“What do you have to lose by letting me talk to her? I mean, from what I understand the team you've got interrogating her hasn't gotten any actionable intel out of her. She's one of the best in counter intelligence, Bly; she wrote the books on interrogation. You need to think outside the box if you're going to break her and you know how well I can think outside the box."

 

The CSS man pursed his lips, his eyes going from the vast array of notes to the man who had obviously spent a lot of time and energy writing them out. He had wanted Michael Westen focused and back in the game. Whatever had happened after he and his team had left earlier had definitely had a profound effect on the ex-operative.

 

Letting out a breath in a heavy sigh, the senior agent came to a decision. “Okay, you win. I'll make a call and arrange for you to visit Ms Riley.”

 

Turning away, Jason Bly pulled out his phone and keyed in the number which would put him through to the facility where Olivia Riley was being held.

 

“Are you happy now?”

 

Michael glanced down as a slender arm encircled his waist, his lover snuggling up close to his side.

 

“I'll be happier when this is over... If I can get Riley to open up about all the other things Card was doing, it should be enough to swing things our way.”

 

“Maybe I could join you? Oh, your interrogation skills are good. But I think I have proven my unique methods get answers faster.”

 

“Maybe so, Fi, but this has to be done by the book... Are you okay?” he asked as the mother of his child yawned and leaned heavily into him.

 

“I'm just a bit tired, that's all. I think if you're going to be going off to have fun without me, I'll take a nap on one of the sun loungers. It is getting stuffy – inside.”

 

He pressed a quick kiss to her forehead. 

 

"I need to check up on my mom while you're changing and Bly is busy."

 

"Oh?" Fiona replied, obviously doubting his veracity or his sanity. "That's a switch."

 

"She's filled up my voicemail. If I don't call her back at some point, she'll come down here and be the one kidnapping Langstrom next. Now's as good a time as any..."

 

"Have fun with that," the redhead advised, heading for the bedroom.

 

Michael watched and waited for the bedroom door to close and then, after quickly checking that Bly was busy talking into his phone, the former spy brought out his own cell phone and moved as far away from their boudoir as he could get.

 

“Mom...”

 

“Why, Michael, so nice of you to call. I was beginning to think you had forgotten how to use a phone.”

 

“I'm sorry, Fi and I have been trying to catch up whenever I get a free moment and I--”

 

“Catch up, ha, is that what you're calling it nowadays?”

 

Even though there were miles between them, Michael could feel his checks reddening at his mother's innuendo and hastily tried to get to the point of his call before she could say anymore.

 

“It's not like that, mom. Look I'm calling because I'm worried about Fiona. All those mood swings you've all been warning me about? This is more than that. I think she had some kind of panic attack earlier today because… because she couldn't find me, I guess…”

 

“Well, if you didn’t run out on her every time then she –”

 

“Mom, this is serious,” he cut his mother off. “She, she pulled a gun on –”

 

“You’re worried because Fiona pulled a gun on someone? Since when, Michael?”

 

“Mother, please…” The exasperation in his tone was evident. “She held one of Bly's men at gunpoint... I mean, it was partially my fault… She volunteered to get one of our bodyguards for me to question and she used a little more force than I was expecting.”

 

“Oh honey... You're supposed to be helping keep her calm, not making things worse. What were you thinking about, sending her to off to assault one of the people keeping you all safe?”

 

“Mom, I didn't tell her to--” But Madeline obviously wasn't in the mood to listen to her only living son.

 

“She won't admit it, but Fiona's worried sick that you're going to leave her when all this is finished. Of course she’s going to be panicky when she can’t find you. You have to show that girl how much you care. It's not difficult, Michael. Stop wandering off and stop sending your girlfriend to do your dirty work.”

 

“Okay, ma, I'll try.... Do you think you could come by and talk to her?”

 

“Wait, you want me to come by? Are you sure you’re okay, Michael?”

 

“She won't talk to me. She keeps blowing it off like it’s nothing. She’s --- okay, I gotta go,”

 

He uttered those last words as the bedroom door swung open and the mother of his child stepped into view, her long auburn hair now pulled up and twisted into a bun at the back of her head, exposing her slender neck while the rest of her body was covered by a long floor length multi-colored kaftan, the filmy material showing the outline of the black bikini she was wearing underneath.

 

“You look good.” He smiled at his lover, his eyes fixed on the woman in loved as if they were the only ones there.

 

“I would look better if we were alone,” she replied before drawing her fiancé into a tight embrace and kissing him soundly. “And how is Madeline?”

 

“She's fine; she asked about you. She said she might come by… You've been stuck here alone for long enough while I'm off with Bly....” He trailed off as she stared back at him. “I thought you might like the company...?” 

 

“Dammit! Find out who they were and get back to me.”

 

Both of them straightened up and moved slightly apart when Bly came striding towards them, his face suffused with anger. 

 

“We have a problem," he announced grimly. “An hour ago, a team of agents with top level clearance walked into our federal facility and took her away. They had all the right paperwork. There was nothing they could do to stop the transfer.”

 

“Who were they?” Michael stepped away completely from his lover's arms, causing her to stagger slightly. But he barely noticed; he was remembering how he and Simon had both been taken away by men in suits after blowing up half of Miami. He had ended up in what was officially a document storage facility, but reality was a high security black site prison.

 

“We don't know. I had them double check the clearances and they're gone, wiped clean from the system, and all the security cameras in the area were not surprisingly off line at the time.”

 

“So, what are you going to do?” the flame haired former paramilitary wanted to know as she joined the men, her hand reaching out her lover's and linking them together.

 

“We'll lock this place down completely. You'll be safe here.”

 

“Right, because we're not already sitting ducks in a fancy pond here. If you're that damned concerned, how about giving us back our guns for a start?” Fiona demanded.

 

"So you can start World War Three down on South Beach? How'd that work out at the British Consulate, Ms Glenanne?" Bly countered. 

 

But Michael's thoughts were on the other people involved. “If they've taken Riley, they could go after Sam or my mom next," he pointed out, wrapping an arm around the Irishwoman’s waist and pulling her close before she could launch herself at the CSS agent.

 

“Alright, I'll send a detail over to Star Island and your mom's place. We need--"

 

"I think my mom needs to come pay Fi a visit while we're locking this down."

 

"Michael?" She could see the wheels were turning in her lover's head, but Fiona hadn't quite yet figured out what he was up to. 

 

However, none of that mattered when Bly's phone began to ring and the pair was on proverbial pins and needles waiting for the next update. The look on the older man's face had been enough to send a chill down both their spines, but what the lead investigator said next had frozen the blood in their veins.

 

"Riley's dead," Bly announced. "They just found her body."

 

“Dead? How?” 

 

Michael's clipped response and the way he stepped abruptly away from her side to join the CCS agent across the room brought a far deeper chill to Fiona's soul than the news of Olivia Riley's sudden demise.


	36. Game Change

"... Do you think you could come by and talk to her?"

"Wait, you want me to come by? Are you sure you're okay, Michael?"

"She won't talk to me. She keeps blowing it off like it's nothing. She's - okay, I gotta go,"

And just like that Michael had ended the call.

Certainly no 'love you mom' was forthcoming, but at least a 'goodbye' was in order, not just 'I gotta go' followed by a click and the hum on the line, which told her he had hung up to go off to deal with something he considered far more important than talking to his mother.

It was typical of her son and she didn't know why she let it bother her. Madeline frowned and placed the handset back on top of the base unit of her home phone...... Really, after so many years she ought to be used to Michael's inability to say goodbye properly. Although it was nice to hear from him and it had felt good to be asked for her advice with his girlfriend.

The blonde chuckled softly to herself....... If Michael was finding it hard to deal with a pregnant Fiona now, how was he going to cope when his gun toting, explosive happy fiancée became as big as a house and grouchy because junior had spent the whole night using her bladder as a punch bag?

Still beaming, Madeline made her way from the living room into the laundry room and over to the folding ladder which led up into the attic space. She had spent every free minute during the last three days up in the rafters of her home, sorting through the boxes stacked along the walls three deep searching for a small elusive velvet bag she had hidden away many years ago.

"Madeline, god knows you're not the brightest star in the sky, but you've got a good heart and I do believe you're the best thing that has ever happened to that boy of mine... I want you to promise me you won't let Frank go and pawn these after I'm gone." Donna Van Gelder had held out a thin shaky hand, revealing two gold bands held in her palm. "These were mine and Elias', Frank's daddy. When my time comes, I want Michael to have these."

That had been two days before Frank's mother had finally succumbed to the illness which had cut short her life. Michael had been very close to his grandmother before she'd passed away.

Slipping one hand into her trouser pocket, Maddie gave the small bag a squeeze before using both hands to pull on the long piece of rope which retracted the ladder back into the space high above her head....... It had to be fate that had guided her to the right box shortly before her son's call asking for her help with the apparently crazed mother to be.

She had never had the pleasure of meeting Frank's father, Elias Westen. By all accounts he had been a charming rogue, a gambler, a bootlegger and a bit of a con man, but also with a kind heart for those worse off than himself. He had been a character far removed from the tough martinet who had become Frank's stepfather, first marrying the recently widowed Mrs Westen and later moving her and her teenage sons to Miami after her new husband had retired, leaving Georgia and her deceased husband's family behind.

Just for a second, the blonde allowed herself to muse on what life might have been like if her Frank had grown up without having to suffer to harsh discipline dished out by former Drill Sergeant Adam Van Gelder... But the image which floated through her mind offered no real comfort. If Elias Westen had lived, she would probably have never had met the tall dark brooding man who had given her so much joy and devastating heartache over the years.

Shaking off the feeling of melancholy at what might have been, Madeline glanced at her wrist watch. She should be preparing for her senior's stretching class at the Y, but instead she was going to have a quick shower to wash away the dust and cobwebs from her time in the attic and then get changed to visit with her son. Her smile returned… her thoroughly independent resourceful son needed her and that was the best feeling in the world.

Leaving the laundry room, she made her way into her bedroom and threw open the closet doors. The Chadwick was one of the very fanciest hotels in Miami. There was no way she was going there dressed in the clothes she had worn to crawl around in the attic.

Pulling out white linen trousers and a bright blue silk top, Madeline left them on the bed and then went off to shower before getting changed into her chosen outfit.

One thing was for sure, she was going to have to have words with both Michael and Fiona. They both needed to slow down. She stripped off and tucked her hair inside a shower cap and then stepped under the water cascading down. What was Fiona thinking kidnapping one of Bly's men? And more importantly what was Michael doing letting her do it in the first place?

Cleaned up, the older woman quickly dried herself off before heading back to the bedroom to get dressed in her chosen outfit.

Then again with those two it was possible that good sense had gone out of the window when the boredom had inevitably set in... Michael had always been so difficult whenever he'd gotten bored during his youth. Nate had been the same. By the second week of the summer break, her two boys would be up to their necks in every bit of mischief taking place in the neighborhood.

What they needed was something to keep them busy. Before Michael's return, Fiona had been engrossed in her plans for the new house; however, since her son's reappearance, the younger woman hadn't been out there once. Maybe that would be something to keep them both occupied.

Finishing her ensemble with some matching blue earrings, bangles and bead necklace, Maddie checked out her reflection in the mirror attached to the closet door. All that was required now was a smear of lipstick, some blusher and a dab of her favorite perfume.

Maybe she should take one more trip up into the attic. There was a box up there filled with all her old home décor magazines from the last two decades. Hadn't that nice man on the house flipping show she'd started watching said something about 90's style was coming back?

She was half way across the living room when she came to a stop, her eyes taking in her own home décor as her mind went over the color schemes and designs Fiona had been talking almost non-stop about during their long evenings sitting together while Michael was away.

Maybe on second thought she would leave those magazines where they were and instead stop on the way to the Chadwick and see if there were any new editions of the baby, parenting and style magazines which were rapidly replacing the copies of Soldier of Fortune, Guns & Ammo and Modern Demolition on the younger woman's bedside table.

With that thought in mind, Madeline went to slip on her white sandals when a knock on her door caused her to change her course.

"Madeline Westen?" The tall heavy set middle aged man in a black suit and dark glasses asked when she opened the door.

While Michael's mother could be a little dense sometimes, when it came to spotting trouble in the form of government drones, she was a lot quicker on the uptake. Especially after having been abducted from the Miami Airport on her last return trip from Las Vegas.

"I'm sorry. She's not home right now. You'll have to come back-"

"Nice try, Mrs Westen." Before she could step back, strong fingers wrapped around her upper arm, drawing her out of the house.

"Let go of me!" She attempted to pull away but to no effect as his younger, silent partner took hold of her other arm to aid in the task of dragging her towards the black panel van waiting at the curb. "You can't do this! Let go!"

As she continued to struggle, all she could hope was that her nosy neighbors would call the police if she kicked up enough of a fuss. "Where are you taking me? I need my purse. Let go!"

They rushed her down the sidewalk despite her best efforts to impede their progress.

"Oh, for god's sakes, can you let me get my shoes? You listen to me, your bosses are going to hear about this! Dammit, let me get my shoes!" she yelled as she was pushed into the vehicle. "At least close the front door!"

()()()()()

"Riley's dead," Bly announced. "They just found her body."

"Dead…? How…?"

Michael's clipped response and the way he stepped abruptly away from her side to join the CSS agent across the room brought a far deeper chill to Fiona's soul than the news of Olivia Riley's sudden demise.

"Her body was found at the side of the road, two miles from where she'd been taken. It looks like she was shot once in the back of the head and her body thrown from the vehicle. There are no blood stains or bullet casings at the scene. Not even a single damn footprint... We're looking into who issued the order to have her removed from our custody. Luckily the booking clerk wrote down the name on the paperwork, so we didn't lose everything when the details were wiped but-"

"So far the name doesn't match any department head and the security code, if you've even got it, no longer exists. You can forget tracing the team that took her, they're long gone," Michael had finished the older man's sentence for him.

Fiona stood as if dumbstruck. She had seen that same gleam in Michael's eyes before... The day Jason Bly had turned up at the loft and handed Michael his burn notice dossier... The moment he had discovered Victor was the rogue agent attempting to smash the machine from the inside...

She had heard that same level of intensity in her lover's voice before… His determination, even after she had gone to all the trouble to rescue him from the Ukrainian war criminal Chechik, to do all he could to be Tom Strickler's puppet… His stubborn refusal to just shoot Mason Gilroy and be done with it all... Trying to justify working for the people who had burned him, who had held him captive... and each time it had brought her nothing but heartache.

"Okay, super spy, if we're not going to find any evidence, what do you suggest we do next?

"You need to have your guys go over Riley's statements with a fine tooth comb and scan the video feed of her cell. She must have said or done something, something that has the guy we're after worried enough to risk exposure… Anson told me, he was trying to goad me, show me how smart he was... he said it was my investigation which forced him out into the open. You should also look into the guys you had guarding her; somebody must have talked. Otherwise how did they know where to find her?"

The father of her child was in full spy mode now, striding confidently around the room handing out orders to the man who was supposed to be in charge and the slimy bastard was trotting after the former operative like a trained sheep. There had been a time when watching Michael Westen take control had been a thrill, but not now, not when it threatened their chance of a life together.

"I don't want to keep ducking this, so let me be straight with you. This job, what we just did, saving American lives, this is the type of work I was made for, Fi. It's what my old job gave me a chance to do every single day. So no, getting back in isn't just a way to survive and protect the people I love. It's what I want... And if you truly care about me, you should damn well want for me what I want for myself." She remembered those words as if they had been burnt into her brain, she remembered the hurt she had done her best to bury away and mostly what she remembered that was the night she had called her oldest brother for the first time in years and had ended up practically begging him for permission to return home.

"I don't suppose there were any witnesses to them dumping the body? Or that any of the local traffic cams caught anything suspicious…? Let me guess, all down, well, there's a surprise."

As Michael continued to grill Bly, she bit down on her still swollen and sore bottom lip and willed the tears that were building to recede..... No! They were engaged. He had promised to be there for her and the baby. She was NOT going to give in to another panic attack, dammit! 

"I know I agreed to locking this place down, but that was before we knew about Riley. Fiona is right, we can't stay here. It's too risky. I am not going to put my family in danger.”

His words warmed her heart and helped clear her head immediately. He wasn't being caught up in the game again; he was just trying to protect them.

"No one is getting up here without my say so. I have men on the ground, guarding the elevator," Bly blustered, finally trying to take back control, though as far as Fiona was concerned the so-called agent in charge had left it too late to corral his asset as Michael refused to be pacified.

"I'm not worried about someone coming up here. I'm worried about a bomb in the basement... I've seen this before, Bly, I've lived it. After Simon Escher almost succeeded in bombing the Epic Hotel, I was arrested. But before I could be charged, I was taken by a group with high level clearance the same way Riley was. Only I ended up in some foreign country in what was described to me as a document storage warehouse that looked a lot like a black site prison."

Fiona shivered internally at the memory of his desperate embrace as he'd tried to tell her where he'd been held once she'd resolved his pouting with a well-placed blow– now she was the one who needed a good slap. She couldn't keep falling apart like this. It could get them both killed.

"You actually believe there's someone out there who would blow up a beach front Miami hotel just to stop your testimony?" the CSS agent scoffed.

"Have you've read my goddamn dossier? Did you read all about what happened in Panama?" The ex-spy exploded. "Do you honestly think an Operations Chief, however corrupt, had the power to order an F14 to bomb a friendly country, especially so close to a town the size of San Miquel?"

Fiona watched as the two men stood only a few feet apart, their eyes locked on each other as they battled for superiority. There was a part of her which longed to stoke the fire and watch the resulting explosion. She had no doubt in her mind that in either a physical battle or a war of words, her lover would be the one to triumph.

"Think about it, Bly! There was no diplomatic blow back. If it hadn't been for Elsa Dearborn dragging Cowley into the mix, the head of the IOC wouldn't have even known about it. Just how does that happen without someone with major resources behind it?"

But another part of her, the part which ever since she had arrived in Miami had been steadily growing stronger, urged her to put an end to the stalemate. Michael might win the battle, but they would still be stuck in what was now nothing more than a fancy death trap. She had more important priorities now than enjoying a good fight, however much she might have relished seeing Michael put the annoying CSS drone firmly in his place.

Taking a deep breath, the petite redhead stepped in between the two men. "Boys, fight or put a sock in it. Bly, Michael's right we need to leave. Correct me if I'm wrong, but with Riley dead, you need Michael in one piece and talking." She turned to face her lover, smiling up at him. "Michael, I know just the spot... I have a little place out west of here, very remote, very well hidden... It's where I keep my more… exotic inventory, so I'm not exactly thrilled about-"

"You want to hide out in the swamp… with alligators, snakes and mosquitoes?" Michael curled his lip in disdain. But before she could get angry with her lover for his casual dismissal of her safe house, Agent Bly opened his mouth.

"I'm not seeing me letting the two of you run loose in the Everglades, though I am interested in hearing more about all the exotic inventory. I understood one of the conditions of Ms. Glenanne's parole to be her staying away from automatic weapons."

Michael must have felt her tense. Because before she got the chance to react his strong arm wrapped about her shoulders, pulling her in close to his side. "The CIA cleared her of all charges and that agreement was torn up... Besides, you were only kidding, weren't you, Fi?"

For a brief second, she thought about bragging on her extensive supply of C-4 and the six crates of FN P-60s among other things she was looking after for a friend, just to see the look on the man who represented everything she hated about the US government right now. But the pleading look she was receiving from the father of her child softened her up enough to remain mute.

"We need to get out of Florida not just Miami and I know somewhere close to DC… solid walls, lots of security and plenty of things to do… heated swimming pools too, spa treatments, five star chef and if it comes down to it– access to a nuclear bunker."

"Nucl-? Westen, have you completely lost your mind?"

She was confused, but it was apparent that Jason Bly knew or at least had guessed where Michael was talking about. Her head turned to one and then the other trying to work out where exactly they were talking about.

"It is a tactically sound choice. I was out there in the mid-nineties on a body guard gig. We go on our own, we sign in under false names and if anything happens, I know my way around."

"You know your way around?" Now it was the CSS agent's turn to pace around the living room, being closely followed by her boyfriend who had yet again abandoned her while he fought their corner. "I thought we had discussed this, Westen. You're not the one in charge here and the Greenbrier? You've got to be kidding me..."

"You got a better plan? I'd love to hear something that doesn't get us killed."

"Bill Cowley is itching to get his hands on you and go through your statement since he is risking his whole career on the outcome of this hearing. You think he's going to want to travel out to the backwoods of West Virginia just to go over your statement?"

"Risking his career…? I think our lives are little more important some—" Fiona began furiously.

"It's the safest place I know," the former spy cut in, holding her tighter. "And knowing Crowley, he'll probably just expense it. But that's not the point. I can't have Cowley showing up and blowing our cover. Nobody wants this over with more than me, Bly, trust me. We can keep in contact on burner phones, but otherwise you need to stay here and keep them focused on you."

The agent in charge scowled at the younger man, his lips set in a thin line as he tried to come up with some reason to dismiss the strategy set before him. "Do you have any idea how much it is going to cost to do this?"

"But I'm worth it…" Michael gave Bly his best cheesy grin. "Believe me, it'll be a lot less than the bill you'd be getting if this hotel gets blown to pieces... I should call Sam, give him a heads up, and my mom, she's supposed to be on her way here now."

"You can call him in a few minutes. Let's go over this little plan of yours in some detail first. And I'll have my men check on your mom if she's not here by the time we're done.

()()()()()()()

Spies come from all walks of life and no two are exactly alike. Whether they are a former operative, a beautiful bomber with a bad temper or a hard drinking ex-SEAL, they all share one trait: punctuality. Showing up on time means you are fifteen minutes late. However, that trait can lead to a lot of stress when you are stuck waiting for a vital communication when your tactical situation has radically changed.............

Sam Axe paced impatiently back and forth in front of the video screen set up in his fiancée's home office on the ground floor of her Star Island mansion. Pursing his lips, he ran his hands over his grey sprinkled dark colored hair before rolling his shoulders and shaking out his arms in an effort to release the tension, which was rapidly building as he waited for the hands on the wall clock to shift around to eight o' clock... Five more minutes, calm down Axe, just four minutes fifty two – fifty one seconds to go… Easy peasy.

He really shouldn't have been surprised when his plans for a quiet afternoon lounging poolside went to hell. But he guessed he had forgotten to take into account that nothing ever went smoothly when his best friend Michael Westen was involved.

He had been happily lying out in the sun, working on his tan while sipping his way through his third mojito of the day, waiting for the arrangements to be made for his satellite call when his cell phone had begun to vibrate its way across the small table at his side.

"Hey Mike," he'd greeted his friend warmly. "I wasn't expecting to hear from you any time soon. Last I heard you were gonna be on lock down until you testified."  
"Yeah, well, a lot has changed in the last hour." And that had been when his best friend had spoken the four little words which were guaranteed to ruin any day. "We have a situation..."

It had only gotten worse from there as the ex-operative had filled him in on the latest developments. Olivia Riley being removed from what was supposed to be a secure federal facility and her dead body showing up just down the road from said facility had definitely counted as a situation. It had also raised a lot of bad memories. Because if the similarity between the death of the counter intelligence ace and that of a certain Czech wet work specialist shortly after Michael's arrival in Miami had sent his best buddy's paranoia levels up to ten, it had sent the former SEAL's to eleven point five.

"Mike, you have to get outta the penthouse now!"

Having spent so many hours thinking about his former lover and the way she had died, it hadn't been a giant leap to connect the dots from the death of one CIA agent being blown up in a hotel bombing thirteen years ago to Simon's attempt to blow up another Miami hotel in order to keep his successor as a tool of management in line to Tom Card's own attempt to kill them all with a Hellfire missile being fired from a F-14 fighter jet.

"We're working on it, Sam... Bly has his guys sweeping the hotel right now and we'll be leaving as soon as we can arrange transport. I was calling to give you a heads up. Things could get bad, Sam. There's a couple of Bly's guys on their way over to you now to help beef up the security at Elsa's and the Coastguard is going be patrolling close by so you'll be safe where you are. What I need for you to do is keep your head down and stay out of the line of fire, just like St Petersburg. You hear me, Sam? Your arm is not 100% yet and we've caused Elsa enough problems."

Six months ago facing an unknown enemy however powerful would not have phased the former naval special forces commander one bit. After all taking on gun toting lunatics on a near weekly basis was all part of the thrill of being one of the top three numbers on Mike Westen's speed dial, but the thought of Elsa being at his side when the lead started flying had filled him with dread.

Even so, the military man had been momentarily stunned that his best buddy had been trying to bench him... That was before what the ex-spy had really been trying to tell him had sunk in.

What Mikey had really wanted him to do was stay on the trail of whoever Rayna passed her intel on to. With Riley gone, finding out what Rayna knew was their only lead.  
"You sure, Mikey?" Sam had asked for the benefit of whoever might have been listening in.

He had to do it because not only was the younger man his closest friend and brother in arms, but also because, even though it meant putting Elsa in danger, now that his lady was on the radar of the bad guys ending this was the only way to make sure she stayed safe.

"Your job is to stay with Elsa and stay out of it. I don't need you two becoming collateral damage. Bly and the CSS have this under control."  
Sam could just imagine what it had cost his buddy to have to say those words aloud.  
"He better or he's gonna be collateral damage. Listen, Mikey, you make sure you and Fi keep your heads down too... No getting killed before we cross the finish line here. You got me? When this hearing goes down, you need to nail these bastards to the wall and finish it this."  
"I will, I promise you. Thanks Sam. I'll call you when this is over."

In the end, regardless of all the bad news, it had been good to hear from his best friend and to hear him sounding so much more like his old self. He had been getting worried about Mike ever since he had seen him for the first time after the spy had run out on them in Tallahassee.

Card had certainly done a number on his former trainee, but now it seemed like the death of Olivia Riley had finally brought Mike's fire back.

Slumping down onto Elsa's large comfy leather couch, Sam couldn't resist checking the time yet again, this time on his lady's engagement gift to him, an eighteen thousand dollar Bvlgari Diagono time piece with its 22 carat gold and diamond encrusted strap... Damn, still two minutes and thirty six seconds to go… if Sandy's former trainee was still following the example set by his first supervisor.

"Sam, you're making me even more nervous than I was before… if that's possible."

The former commander managed with only a supreme effort not to jump as his lady love's slender hand landed on his shoulder and her soft lips glanced over his cheek.

"Sorry, baby. Come here and sit down with me." He hid his nerves behind a wide flirty smile and patted the space beside him. "Our part will be over with soon. Bly's upping our security detail and I can't tell you how happy I am right now knowing that Mikey has finally gotten his head back in the game. I gotta tell ya, that guy had me worried, the way he was disconnecting. Riley being killed was just the kick he needed to get his butt back in gear."

"If you say so..." The brunette slipped down beside her lover, snuggling in close to his side "And once this call is over with, we're free to get on with our lives?"

"Not exactly, baby. I might have to follow up on a few things and to be honest until all this is cleared up we might be safer staying put. We're in a great position here. Nobody gets on or off the island without going through a check point, we can see anyone approaching by sea before they get anywhere near close," he tried to reassure the woman he loved. "And just in case, Bly has the Coast Guard patrolling offshore."

He was in the process of drawing her into an embrace when the big screen on the wall fluttered to life, the picture rolling several times before coming into focus.

There on the screen before them was Steven Benson, not the fresh faced agent wearing brand new immaculate fatigues he had met over twenty five years ago on a Turkish airfield, but the world weary face of an experienced and slightly jaded man who had seen too much in his lifetime.

"G'day Miz Dearbon, I'm Steven Benson with the U.S. Consulate and I have here that you requested a video conference? The Embassy doesn't usually take requests for secure emergency calls from private companies, so I'm guessing you have some very important friends." The Company man zeroed all his attention on the woman who had made the arrangements for an emergency conference with the head of security for the US Embassy in Canberra.

"I do, Mr. Benson." Elsa straightened up and moved slightly away from the man at her side. "But before we start can I have your assurance that you are alone and that nobody else is listening into our conversation? You must understand I am the CEO of a large hotel chain and I owe my clients a duty to be discrete when discussing their needs."

Sam had to stifle a chuckle at the way the man on the screen fought his own battle not to roll his eyes at the necessity of being polite to civilians. He didn't have to have the ability to read minds to know that the younger man was thinking… that this was going to be about some celebrity or minor member of foreign dignitaries with their outrageous and, in the scheme of things, inconsequential demands.

"I can assure you, ma'am, we are alone and as head of security the only person monitoring my calls is myself, so-?"

Sam took that as his cue and sat forward, gesturing with a squeeze of his hand over his fiancée's fingers to signal for her to leave. "This call isn't about some celebrity wanting to smuggle his little dog into the country... Hey Benson, do you remember me?"

"I'm sorry, sir – " the younger man squinted at the screen and then slowly recognition showed on his scarred features. "Axe? Lieutenant Commander Sam Axe?"

"It was Commander, but I'm retired now so plain old Sam will do."

"I – sorry sir, but what is this about? I was told this call was to assist in what could turn into a diplomatic disaster of epic proportions."

"Sorry for the subterfuge, buddy, but it was necessary. It's about among other things Rayna Kopec, you remember her? And what happened to her."

The younger man frowned and leaned forward in his chair before carefully looking around as if checking he was alone. "Yeah, she was very supportive after I was injured... I, er, I never believed the official company line, sir. I mean, last time I spoke to her she told me she'd found a corner piece of the puzzle she'd been trying to solve for years... I took it she'd finally gotten a solid lead on that cabal of former agents she'd been looking into. But then a week later she's dead. It just seemed too damned convenient to me. I tried looking you up, but all I got was the run around and then some heavy hitter from Langley warned me to back off."

That was interesting. "This heavy hitter, did they give you a name or a department?"

"No, it was a big black guy, very smooth, but I got the message."

That had to have been Vaughn… Sam felt a burning rage at the man who was now living out the rest of his years locked up with no chance of parole and then pushed it down. If it had been Vaughn, then that confirmed his former lover had indeed discovered something important.

"Do you have any idea what she'd found out?"

"No, no, you know how she was. She never actually came out and said. But I do know she was getting ready to hand her findings up the line. But she was trying to decide who to trust."

"This is real important, Benson. Do you know if she might have talked to anybody else about what she suspected, anyone she might have trusted with her intel?"

"Jeez, it was a long time ago." Sam watched as the younger man sat back in his chair, his disfigured face going blank as he became lost in his thoughts.

"Kay Anderson... Rayna, er, Ms. Kopec always spoke fondly of her old training officer. She was some sort of mother figure. Is that the right word? I sent her a parcel once. Back in '94 before I left for my Balkans posting, it was one of the last things I did for her, I sent a box to an address in West Virginia.. er, Vienna, West Virginia. Sorry, that's all I've got."

Bingo! Sam slapped the arm of the couch and then quickly reached for the note pad and pen Elsa had left for him. "Tell me everything you remember about Kay Anderson of Vienna, oh and also the sonuvabitch who warned you off from looking into Rayna's death, too."

Now, they were getting somewhere! A chance to finally pay back the bastards who'd had Rayna killed and put an end to all this bullshit… now that was worth more than his watch!


End file.
